


Find Your Way Back

by unadulteratedstorycollector



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bonding, Community: hp_goldenage, Divorce, Forced Proximity, Harry Potter/OMC - Freeform, Implied past eating disorders, M/M, Top Draco, infidelity against OMC, lawyer Draco, quidditch coach harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-24 19:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13818231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadulteratedstorycollector/pseuds/unadulteratedstorycollector
Summary: Thirty years ago, Draco Malfoy requested a divorce from Harry Potter, but somehow their marriage bond was never severed. Now Harry wants to break the bond, marry his new fiancé, and continue getting on with his life. But Draco's not sure he's willing to let him go a second time.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the lovely mods, for being patient with me, and so lovely and understanding. You are brilliant. Thank you to the prompter. I hope I did your prompt justice. I love the idea of Harry and Draco coming together when they're older and potentially wiser. Thank you A for convincing me to sign up to this fest. I don't think it was very hard, but I'm glad you did it! And finally, thank you so, so much to T. I couldn't have done this without you. You have been a wonderful beta and an amazing friend, and I am so lucky.

**Prologue**

The office is stuffy and too hot, a sort of pale puce colour that Harry is really starting to hate. He grits his teeth, shuffling in his seat in a vague attempt to get comfortable. They shouldn't be here. This is all wrong. They promised to love each other. Until death do they part and forever after that. This is all Draco's fault. He shoots a glare across the table, his head numb and his stomach churning. 

Draco looks awful. He's too thin, and his skin is too transparent. He probably hasn't been eating. He never remembers to eat. Deep longing twists through Harry, starting in his gut and working its way up, over his heart and along the back of his neck. He itches to reach out, to touch his husband— ex-husband—and make it alright. And then the lawyer next to him makes an inane comment and he thinks maybe he'll just punch the other man instead. This is all Draco's fault. Draco was supposed to love him. Why did he stop loving him? It doesn't make sense. If he hadn't wanted to get married in the first place then why did he? Why could he have not just left Harry alone? Tears prick at the back of his eyes and he takes a deep, slow breath to try and regain control. He will not cry in front of Draco. 

It's clear Draco has been crying, his eyes red rimmed and his lips horribly chapped. He's not meeting Harry's eyes, his delicate fingertips dancing around his finger where his ring used to be. Maybe Harry should stop this. Maybe this isn't what Draco wants. To be honest he has no idea what Draco wants. He thought he knew everything about the other man. He knows what winds him up. He knows how to make him laugh. But maybe knowing that stuff doesn't help him understand. So, maybe, Draco does want him. 

Draco looks up, his eyes swirling and cold and Harry sends a silent plea. One word from Draco and he can take this back. He can stop this. They can go home. Maybe Draco didn't mean what he said. Maybe they can be happy forever. He thinks he sees Draco's lips part, sticky and slow, and he leans forward.

"And if you could just sign here, gentlemen, and you'll be divorced," Draco's lawyer says, sliding a piece of paper over to them, a pen resting on top of it. The air stands still, and Harry can't breathe. All Draco needs to do is tell Harry that he was wrong. That he wants to be married. But he says nothing, so Harry juts his chin out, snatching the pen and scrawling his name. He ignores the look of anguish on Draco's face as he stands and sweeps from the room.

 

**Chapter One**

"Draco? Where are you?" A deep, rough voice calls from the front door and Draco, stretches, dropping the book he was reading on the grass and taking off his reading glasses. He rubs at his face, listening to the heavy footsteps of his cousin crashing through his house and chuckles to himself.

"Garden!" he calls, before Teddy can do any real damage. There's a small crash, a gentle curse, and then the back door is opening. Draco doesn't bother to look up from where he's currently staring at a bush, waiting patiently. He recognises the soft scrape of Teddy dragging a chair across the patio and then onto the grass without having to look up. Teddy's chair lands with a thud next to his and he turns to smile at his cousin.

"You know it's March, right?" Teddy pointlessly remarks, flopping into his chair. His hair shines aquamarine, a sure sign that he's at least a little cold and Draco rolls his eyes.

"You act like I care." Leaning forwards, he picks a couple of bottle of beer from where they sit under a cooling charm, for no real need, and passes one to Teddy. Teddy takes it gratefully, waving his wand to pop the bottle top off, and leaning back in his chair, eyes closed. Draco smiles softly, the sort of smile he wouldn't let Teddy see him give. Mainly because Teddy would call him a sap and, Draco shudders, old. He takes a sip of his own beer and settles back into his chair. "What are you doing here anyway? Don't you have some sort of child to be looking after?"

"You act like you don't love them." Teddy grins, his hair slowly changing back to a soft shade of deep blue. Draco can't deny it, he really does. There isn't much he wouldn't do for Teddy's children, just as there isn't much he wouldn't do for Teddy. Or any of his friends' children. Even the three Blaise had with Ginny Weasley. Especially the ones Blaise had with Ginny Weasley. Fuck knows they can't look after themselves. He glances over at Teddy and takes a sip of his beer, closing his eyes again the spring sun.

"How are my first cousins twice removed?" Draco asks, mainly for something to talk about.

"Fine. Vikki took them to see Rose Granger-Weasley's kids so I get the morning off," Teddy replies, his voice sounding far away. Ah. It all makes sense now. Not that Draco isn't used to Teddy randomly showing up at his house, but never normally on the weekends. He has a family. His own family. Draco ignores the pang in his chest that reminds him he could have had that, once upon a time. Those are the sort of thoughts he has when he's alone in the middle of the night, unable to sleep and having spent the entire day arguing prenuptial agreements with overly rich witches and wizards. He takes a large gulp of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, because he can, and tugging at his hair. It's still quite thick, even if he is getting a… shudder… widow's peak.

"Hence you coming to bother me," he mumbles, with no real malice. Teddy hums with amusement, and Draco knows he's shrugging, because Teddy shrugs at almost anything. A habit he picked up from… his other guardian when he was a teenager.

"Well, I thought it had been a while. Probably should check you've been feeding yourself." Teddy's voice is light, but Draco can't help and hear the seriousness behind it. The fucking cheek! Draco is perfectly capable of looking after himself. Ever since he and… anyway. He looked after himself then, and he can do it now. He had a poached egg this morning, and even had a piece of toast with it. He's obviously gone for a run as well, but nothing extensive, just a 5K jog. Practically nothing. He turns his head and glares at Teddy, knowing that the other man can feel it. 

"Funny. You know, the benefit of being a bachelor at fifty-five is that you don't have someone nagging you about things like eating," he points out and Teddy opens his eyes, giving Draco a piercing stare, his lips quirking at the corner.

"You know, the great thing about being married at thirty-seven is that you know it isn't nagging. It's caring." He waggles his eyebrows a bit and Draco sighs, raising an eyebrow and leaning back in his chair.

"Sure." He tries to sound like an adult, because at fifty-five he is a fucking adult, but familiar annoyance settles in his stomach. He knows that Teddy is just looking after him, is worried about him. But he can look after himself. He doesn't need anyone else to tell him when he should be eating. He eats. He's alive. He's even got a rather annoying little roll around his belly that his Healer has assured him is both healthy and a sign of aging. 

"So, have you?" Teddy's voice interrupts his thoughts about his tiny roll and he frowns, unsure what they were talking about. He downs the rest of his beer and reaches over to place it in the pile of recycling he has next to him.

"What?" he asks, his brain still trying to catch up.

"Eaten?" Teddy jokes and Draco laughs, taking another beer and pointing it at his cousin.

"Careful, or I'll send you to the Weasleys'." It's the most pointless threat ever. The Weasleys are warm, lovely, very, very loud people, and Teddy fits right in with them. Draco fits in with them too, when Harry isn't there.

"Ha. They wouldn't care if I was there or not. They're all het up about the wedding," Teddy groans and Draco can't help but laugh at that. There are five Weasley siblings, each of them with at least two kids, except for Charlie, and the youngest is in their mid-twenties. Teddy has been to more weddings in the past few years than Draco has been to ever.

"Another one of the Weasley brats are getting married, are they?" he teases and Teddy frowns, sitting up in his chair, and leaning closer to Draco. Draco's stomach swoops, his hands going clammy, and he knows, suddenly knows, before Teddy even says it.

"No, Harry is…" Teddy's voice is slow and it's all Draco can hear above the crashing in his brain, his pulse loud and fast and his chest tight. Harry is getting married. His Harry. No, not his. Harry is getting married to someone else. Draco tries to breathe, tries to move, bile building in his throat. Teddy moves forward, a hand wrapping around Draco's shoulder, his eyes shining with worry, his hair rippling in multi colours. "You didn't know? Shit. Sorry, Draco— I didn't— fuck." Draco shakes his head.

"It's ok, Ted. Honestly," Draco lies through his teeth. This is not ok. This is very not ok.

*****

"Are you excited?" Chris asks next to him and Harry turns to his fiancé, frowning slightly. He'd been away in his own world, trying his hardest not to remember the last time he was on his way to do this. He's not entirely sure why he's doing it now. No, that's not fair. He loves Chris, and he wants to get married. He does. And Chris really wants to get married and start thinking about having children. Harry thinks maybe he's a little old for kids. Fuck, Roxie just announced she's pregnant. He can't have a kid at the same time as his niece. And Hugo already has one… ok, sure it wasn't entirely planned, but if Hugo is old enough to have a baby, then Harry is… ok, maybe not too old. But does he really have the energy to be chasing after babies? Does he really want to? Chris does. But then, he's 37. He's got loads of time. And then there's that weird thing he has with Teddy that they don't talk about. Chris's hand slips into his and he starts.

"Hmm?" He raises his eyebrows and Chris smiles, excited and bouncy. 

"About getting registered? I think it's exciting." He moves Harry closer, pressing a soft kiss to Harry's temple. He smiles at Chris, squeezing his hand, trying not to shuffle in the incredibly uncomfortable plastic chairs they have at the Magical Registry. He wants Chris to be happy. Wants this to be as happy a day for Chris as it had been for him, all those years ago. As happy as it is… no, he's not going to lie to himself. He's too old for that.

"Oh. Yeah! I'm excited." Lying to someone else doesn't count.

"This is it, Haz, the countdown to the wedding." Chris sounds so excited, so happy, and Harry tries to feel the same. Tries to take some of that excitement and make it his own. The room is stuffy and noisy, and there are new-born babies crying next to him, but fuck it, if he can muster enthusiasm for looking at Milana Weasley-Zabini play the piano badly for the hundredth time, he can look excited about getting married to the man he loves.

"Yeah, it sure is." He knows the grin on his face doesn't look sincere, doesn't quite meet his eyes, and he cringes inwardly. It's not that he isn't excited, of course he is. They've been together for ten years. He loves Chris. He loves how calm and solid and in control of his own life Chris is. How Harry never has to worry about him. Chris slides an arm around his shoulder and he leans into it a little, feeling Chris's cheek leaning against the top of his head uncomfortably.

"I know you're nervous, but I promise you, our marriage will be so much better than the one you had with—"

"Next!" The woman at the desk shouts and Harry stands quickly, probably faster than he should have when Chris was in the middle of talking, but having a discussion about the last time he was here is not something he wants to be doing. Chris stands too, taking his hand and walking them over to the desk, a slight bounce in his step, joy written over his handsome features and guilt twists at Harry's chest. This should be a happy occasion, and he's bringing it down with memories of his twat of an ex. He takes a deep breath, letting go of Chris's hand, and wraps his arm around his fiancé's waist, drawing him close.

"Hi! We're here for our appointment to register for our magical marriage bond," Chris announces to the witch in front of them and she looks down a list, not bothering to ask what their names are. Harry likes it when they do that. There's no point in pretending they don't know who he is. She taps the list once with her pen and beams at them, seemingly genuinely happy that they're getting married.

"Second door on the right, just down that corridor," she says, waving them in a direction and going back to her list. They turn and walk down the corridor, Chris's arm held protectively around his shoulders, and Harry tries his hardest not to recognise the hallway, painted slightly differently, but still the same. Draco had practically run down this corridor until Harry had picked him up, pressing him against the wall fiercely as they kissed before Harry carried him into the room. His chest tightens in anger and a deep, gnawing sadness and he shakes his head slightly in an attempt to get rid of the memories.

"Good morning, gentlemen." A jolly officiant greets them at the door, a different one from thirty-five years ago, and ushers them in. She sits at a large wooden desk and gestures to two chairs opposite her, smiling warmly. Harry sits in his tentatively, wincing as Chris flops onto the other one. "How are you today?"

"We're very good." Chris nods, glancing at Harry before turning back to the officiant. Harry rubs his feet together in a vague attempt to calm himself down. They'd been in this room, loud and brash and stupid. And Harry hates him, hates Draco so much for what he did to them.

"Excellent. Excellent. I'll try not to keep you long. Have you thought about when you're going to perform the bond?" The officiant starts to pull out forms, chatting mindlessly, and Harry lets Chris answer. He loves Chris so much. Draco had answered the questions with ridiculous answers that had Harry laughing, and the poor officiant lost for words. They were fucking idiots back then.

"During the ceremony. It'll be nice for everyone to see it happen." Chris takes Harry's hand, and Harry realises he must have been tapping. He straightens his back, trying to work the tension from it, his head swimming and his fingers numb.

"Oh, how lovely! Well then, we better get you registered." The officiant turns to business and Harry grits his teeth, ignoring the memories. The stupid fucking memories. "You need to both fill this out, and I need to just run a couple of spells over you, just to check or magical signatures, and then you make a temporary bind, sign and you're on your way!" So simple. Harry runs his hand through his hair, rubbing at his face and scratching absently at his beard before turning and gesturing to Chris.

"You go first," he insists. His throat is still tight, the back of his neck aching as he tries to ignore the flood of memories assaulting him.

"Sure?"

"Yes." Harry gives Chris a smile, picking up a quill and dragging the paperwork towards him. He fills it in, only throwing up in his mouth a little bit when he's forced to write any previous names he's been known by. Proof that they'd thought it would last forever. Draco had been so proud to take the Potter name, placing it with reverence before the Malfoy. They were idiots. Familiar anger that Harry has carefully repressed wells in his chest and he bites he inside of his cheek to stop himself from ruining this moment for Chris any more than he already has. He doesn't need to know that Draco had dragged Harry into a swooping kiss that turned filthy the second they'd finished the registration. Fuck, Harry doesn't need to remember it.

"All done! Mr Potter, you next." The officiant's jolly voice cuts through Harry's annoyance and he gives her a soft smile before running his fingers through his hair. He stands, shuffling on the spot, and shoving his hands in his pockets. He closes his eyes, in a vague attempt to block out sights and sounds, to ignore the memories making his body tense and his jaw twitch. The soft tickle of magic flows over him, twisting through him. And then it stops, and the room is quiet. Too quiet. Harry opens his eyes, taking in the worry in the officiants eyes, the soft frown lines between her eyebrows. Something's wrong.

"Everything ok?" he asks, glancing at where Chris is scowling, clearly worried.

"Um… I'm sorry, Mr Potter, I just need to check…" The officiant says, raising her wand again and firing off a few charms, hitting Harry in the chest, covering him with blue and pink and yellow sparks. Harry growls, uncomfortable with the colours, the spells, uncomfortable with how different this is from the last time. Different makes him uncomfortable. Less angry, but incredibly uncomfortable.

"What's going on?" he demands, wincing at how loud, how panicked he sounds, and the officiant stops, still frowning, worrying her bottom lip with impossibly white teeth. 

"I'm afraid I can't register you for a marriage bond," she says, moving back to sit at her desk. Harry follows her, his body tingling, his heart pounding. There's something wrong. Something wrong with him. His brain starts to run through possibilities, scenarios. Just like when he plots out moves in Quidditch. What could have happened? What could have gone wrong… and then it hits him. No. Not possible. He takes a breath, wobbling towards a chair and flopping down in it.

"Why not?" he asks. He needs to make sure. He needs to be told that he's wrong. That his divorce from Draco was… complete. She looks between Harry and Chris, fidgeting with the ring on her finger. Not good. Very not good.

"Um… I'm sorry, Mr Potter, but you're already bonded." 

Fuck.

*****

The soft knock interrupts him in the middle of a very boring and very important amendment clause in the contract he's reading. He scowls at the door, taking his reading glasses off and rubbing at his eyes. "Jenny, I told you I'm busy this morning."

"Sorry, is this a bad time?" A deep voice that Draco recognises as well as his own rumbles through him and his heart freezes. He looks up slowly, his fringe falling into his eyes, his mouth dry and tacky. Harry stands in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking strong and secure and Draco remembers exactly why they never see each other.

"No! Yes! I… uh…" Draco stands, papers flying everywhere and he curses himself. He couldn't just be cool and suave. Of course not. Not in front of Harry. He never was, and he never will be. Taking a deep breath, he gestures to the chair opposite his desk, pushing his hair back and patting it flat as Harry walks into the room.

"Thanks." Harry sits down, and Draco watches him. He has a beard now. Not a long one… close cropped and mostly black. Greying at the sides and a little on the bottom. His hair is almost completely black as well, still thick, still wild, grey at the temples. His glasses are modern, thick black frames that make his eyes shine impossibly greener. And Draco thinks he might throw up. Harry smiles at him and he think throwing up is the last thing he'll do. "Hi."

"Hello." His voice is horribly cracked and it takes all his Malfoy training not to wince.

"How are you? You look well." Harry crosses one leg over the other, vaguely gesturing to Draco and Draco's chest aches. He does. He's put on weight, since Harry last saw him. Good weight. Not bad weight. He was always very careful about that. Harry's eyes are still on him and he coughs, horrible, sticky heat rising in his cheeks.

"I… yes… um. You look good… well. You look well, too. Healthy. You look very healthy." He looks fucking stunning, the bastard. "Teddy said you were getting married! Congratulations. That's… I mean… you always wanted…" Fuck, what is he saying? Why is he still talking? Why are the words all falling out of his mouth in such a terrible way? He resists the urge to bang his head against the desk. Or cry. Or jump across the desk and shake Harry until he admits that they made a stupid fucking mistake. But… no… he's getting married. And Draco is very good at controlling himself.

"Yeah. I'm happy." Harry nods and Draco's heart sinks.

"Good. I want you to be happy," he whispers, looking down at his hands, unable to look at Harry. His heart is tight, his stomach twisted. "It's all I ever wanted."

"That's actually why I came to see you," Harry says and Draco looks up at him, raising one eyebrow. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe that's why Harry is here, because he knows that Draco only wants Harry to be happy. It's all he's ever wanted. Even when their marriage was collapsing under his feet, it's what he wanted.

"I don't think you need to ask your ex-husband's permission to get married again," he mumbles, trying in some way to lighten the mood. Harry laughs, shaking his head, the movement so familiar that Draco shakes with it. This is not how he'd planned their first meeting since Blaise and Ginny got married to be. In his mind he was cool and collected and wearing that jumper that Harry had got him for their first anniversary. Clearly beggars can't be choosers. 

"I don't." Harry grins, for a moment looking like he did every time he looked at Draco when they were younger. And then he clearly remembers why he's here and the smile disappears. "But there's something that's come up, and we need to fix it before I can get married."

"Oh?" Draco asks, ignoring the way his voice sounds too high, too casual. Harry's eyes flash and he knows that Harry knows he's uncomfortable. Things haven't changed that much. Harry coughs, leaning forward.

"Yeah… so apparently we're still bonded." The words hit Draco like a bucket of iced water to his face. They're still… there's still a… what?

"We're still what?" he stutters, his brain frozen, his body stiff. Still bonded. They're still… fucking hell. The stupid fucking bond that he didn't even want in the first place. The thing that means that they are… fuck.

"Bonded. Like, marriage bonded. Remember? You said it was an antiquated ritual and I said that I wanted us to be a family…" Harry reiterates and Draco manages to force himself to nod, his neck too stiff, too tight.

"Right. And then you… um… yes. I remember." And then Harry had given him a sloppy blowjob, letting Draco fuck him for the first time in their relationship, and Draco had said he would do anything to make Harry happy. Anything. And then it hits him. They got divorced. He remembers the horrible day with disgusting clarity, remembers how he'd been unable to eat, to sleep, to think. And then Harry had left. And Draco had drunk himself into oblivion and fucked anyone he could and tried his hardest to forget the feel of Harry against him. But never, in any of that time, had they gone to a bond specialist to have their bond removed. "We didn't have to bond broken when we got divorced."

"Nope…" Harry shakes his head.

"Right." His brain feels fuzzy, thick and he runs a hand through his hair. Think, fucking think. They're still bonded. Which means… "So, we're still married."

"We are not married." Harry's voice is serious, bitter as he pierces Draco with a hard stare and Draco raises an eyebrow.

"We are by pure-blood traditions."

"Draco," Harry warns, his lip twitching. Right. He finds Draco funny, he always did find Draco funny, but this is serious. They aren't married. He's… getting married to someone else. And regardless of how much they would still be considered a couple in pure-blood circles, they aren't. They haven't been since Draco… since they… right. He coughs, taking a deep breath, feeling the muscles in his back relax. He really needs to go for another run.

"Right. You want to get rid of it?" He just has to check. Harry copies Draco, raising an eyebrow and smirks.

"You don't?"

"No! Yes! I…" Right. Harry wants to get rid of the bond. He wants to get married to someone else. He doesn't want to be with Draco, he hasn't in thirty years. The pain is visceral, sharp in his gut and he tries to take a deep breath. OK, he needs the bond broken. "Let me phone Edith."

"Who's that?" Harry asks, frowning. 

"My bond specialist." Draco shrugs, turning away and picking up the floo address book he has, flicking through until he finds Edith's address. If anyone can get them out of this mess, it's Edith.

"I can find one." Harry raises his eyebrows, and Draco gives him a withering look. He had always done this, acted like Draco didn't know the best people to go to. Like Draco wasn't connected to a wide array of specialists. There are lots of things that are bad about being a Malfoy. Lots of things that make him sick to be one. Lots of reasons why he was so happy to take the Potter name. The connections that his Malfoy name gives him is not one of those things.

"I think as the lawyer specialising in property law, I have a better one," he points out. Harry frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, looking stern, angry, and it hits Draco just how much Harry has changed over the years. How much more he controls himself when they are on the verge on an argument.

"Being bonded isn't about being owned…" Harry says and Draco shakes his head. Harry doesn't understand.

"That's exactly what it's about. Legally. Magically." He picks up a pinch of floo powder and throws it into his fireplace. "Edith Cruinski, Five Orchard Street."

"Emotionally?" Harry asks, his eyes knowing and Draco hurts, every inch of him. Edith's face appears in the fire and he coughs, jumping as she calls his name.

"Hi! Edith. You good? Fantastic…" He looks up, catching Harry's eye and his chest aches, bile rising in his throat and he spins around to stare at the fireplace, needing to get away from the piercing gaze of his not-so-ex-husband. "Listen. I need to ask a favour."

*****

Harry rests his head on the table and tries not to think about anything. Especially not his infuriating ex-husband. 

"So, it was that bad?" Hermione asks with what is supposed to be her soothing voice. Forty years and he still can't tell her it sounds more patronising than comforting. Because he loves her, and because he knows she's trying. And because, yes, it was that bad. Harry tilts his head to look at her and her eyebrows crease in worry. "How did he take the news?"

"Probably like this," Ron cuts in, pulling a ridiculous face and Harry chuckles. That is pretty much exactly how Draco had looked, his eyes wide, his jaw doing that weird jumpy thing it does when he's trying to control himself. Harry's head swims at the memory of it. Of how easy it was to remember the small habits that Draco apparently hasn't grown out of. Like those habits are ingrained in Harry, as much a part of him as his own. He shudders and sits up, grabbing his beer and taking a swig from it.

"He's looking well," Hermione murmurs after a moment of silence. Harry glares at her and she shrugs. "I see him around the Ministry."

"Mi, come on." Harry raises an eyebrow at her and she shrugs. "We both know he's looking thin. He's probably not eating enough. And I saw his trainers in his office, so he's clearly still running."

"It's healthy to run," Ron points out, leaning back and rubbing at his softening belly fondly. Harry laughs. Ron likes to call his belly Aldo, his true other half. Rose and Hugo hate it, which Ron has informed him is the main reason he does it. Ron reaches over to grab a handful of crisps from the bowl on the table, as if to make his point further, and Hermione rolls her eyes, smiling at him with an intense sort of love. Harry watches them, something uncomfortable gnawing at his stomach. Does he ever look at Chris like that?

"So, seriously, how was it seeing him again?" Hermione turns her pointed gaze to Harry and he groans. He really doesn't want to talk about it. He really, really doesn't. He doesn't want to think about the way his heart sped up, the way his head spun, the oh-so-familiar smell of Draco. He knows where those thoughts lead, and the memory of that is bitter and twisted.

"How do you think, Mi?" He runs his hand through his beard, thick and peppered grey, scratching lightly. "It was like the first time and the last time all at once."

"That was weirdly poetic, mate," Ron mutters, leaning forward and Harry turns to him and gives him the finger, flashing a grin. Thank fuck Ron is here, because else he'd have to have this conversation with Hermione on his own, and he doesn't think he could do that.

"The first time you saw him when you got together? Or the first time you saw him when you were eleven?" Hermione's voice has that annoying seriousness to it that tells Harry she's really worried about him, and he leans over to take her hand in his, letting her know he's ok. Or, at least, as ok as he can be.

"There actually wasn't much difference," he admits. "Excitement, curiosity, annoyance, fire, fear…" he trails off, trying not to think about the first time he'd seen Draco, not back when he was eleven, and not when they were nineteen, and Draco had taken him on an official date, turning up wearing one of Harry's hoodies that he'd nicked. He takes a sip of his beer, banishing the memories.

"How the fuck did you two ever end up married?" Ron asks with no seriousness. They all know how they ended up married. A surprisingly fantastic first date had ended in a surprisingly fantastic first fuck, which had resulted in a surprisingly sincere declaration of love three months later and a month after that they were standing in front of a member of the Wizengamot saying their vows with just their closest friends and family cheering them on.

"We were so fucking young and stupid. We thought we could make a marriage work on sex and love…" He can't bring himself to look at his friends. Can't see the look of pity in their eyes. Can't have the conversation again that their relationship was more than that. How could it have been more than that? If it was more, it would have worked.

"Yeah, well," Ron says and Harry stares at him, willing him not to say anything, his chest hurting. Ron gives him a small smile, glancing at Hermione before shrugging and taking a sip of his beer. "You aren't young anymore."

*****

Edith is the loveliest woman Draco has ever met. Strong and straight to the point, but quiet, warm. He's known her since he was little, since his father started teaching him about what marriage bonds meant. What he should expect when he grew up. How a bond was like a family tie. And you do anything for family. Edith was one of the few people who had never seemed scared of Lucius Malfoy. Who had never done exactly what he wanted her to do.

"Hmm… yes, the bond does seem to still be there. Deep, and quiet, but definitely there." She finishes casting over the two of them, placing her wand delicately on the table and settling into a large armchair. Draco sits down on the sofa, sinking into the soft padding, and drags Harry down next to him, like a couple of teenagers. Draco always feels like a teenager when he sees Edith.

"How is that possible? How have we not felt it?" Harry asks, shock evident in his voice, and Draco forces himself not to reach out, to take Harry's hand like he would have when they were younger.

"Marriage bonds like this are very common, Mr Potter. They aren't designed to make your life awful if you're apart for long period of time, or to make you fall ill at the slightest suggestion of infidelity. They work in that the longer you are together, in each other's presence, the stronger they get, much like the bonds of love. And you would feel it if one of you were in mortal danger, like an uncomfortable itch in your chest. But as neither of you have particularly dangerous jobs, and I assume aren't going around trying to save the world, there's been no point where you might have felt that." Edith's explanation seems so straightforward, so easy, and Draco is about to thank her when Harry cuts in, clearly still stressed.

"But why do we still have it? We've been divorced for years…" he looks at Draco, his eyes wide and Draco doesn't stop himself, can't stop himself. He reaches out, pressing a hand to Harry's shoulder, running small circle there, feeling the muscles relax under his fingers. The same way he did when they were twenty, soothing each other when nightmares of the war woke them up. And then Harry seems to remember, or realise, that it's Draco rubbing his shoulder and he moves away slightly. Draco tries not to feel the loss of Harry's heat.

"Because the bond isn't a legal process. It's about love, emotion, trust. The bond either needs to be forcibly removed, which is painful and dangerous, or removed naturally." Edith stares at them, her eyes shining, looking at them like she sees something they don't. It's always the same. It's how Edith looks at everyone.

"I'm confused… why do we still have the bond, if we've been divorced for thirty years and haven't seen each other in that time?" Harry's voice is getting louder, and Draco's head spins. Harry is panicking, is worrying. Of course he is. They're still bonded, intrinsically linked, and there seems to be no real reason why. If it were Draco who was going to get married to someone else… well, he has no idea how that would feel. He's only ever wanted to be married to one person, and that clearly didn't work out.

"Well. I can only assume it's because you're still in love." Edith shrugs and Harry freezes next to Draco.

"But I'm in love with Chris." The words stab through Draco and he breathes deeply. Of course he does. He loves Chris, this man he wants to marry. Fuck, they're been together longer than Harry and Draco were. They've built a life together. Harry doesn't want Draco. He just wants to be out of this mess. Draco clenches his fist, feeling the nails digging into his palm. If that's what Harry wants… Draco would do anything to give Harry what he wants.

"It's possible to be in love with two people, Mr Potter." Edith looks at him, her gaze unwavering and Harry juts his chin out, his neck stretching. In the past Draco would have taken the opportunity. Would have buried his face in Harry's neck. But not now. His head swirls. And he counts slowly to ten. He needs to be calm. One of them should be.

"Yes. But I'm not," Harry bites out and Edith stares at him.

"Hmm." She reaches forwards and takes a piece of parchment and a quill from the table. "Well the bond is under the impression that you are. Three weeks should do it. Two if you really hate each other." Harry's mouth is open, clearly not taking any more in, and Draco coughs.

"I'm sorry, three weeks of what?" he asks, clearly needing to take control of the situation. He shuffles forward in the chair, leaning closer to Edith. She looks up from where she's scribbling notes on the parchment, giving him a soft, real smile like she used to give him when he was nine years old, being told he had to have a bond one day.

"Living together. Being together. Marriage bonds aren't cruel things, Draco. If it can feel that you don't love each other, it will break." Edith looks at him, clearly see the worried look on his face. Not that he can't stand pain… just that he'd rather not. "I can promise you it won't hurt. I've been told it feels like a soft tug at your solar plexus, and then a gentle relief, much like when you have relieved yourself after drinking too much water."

"And you want us to live together until this happens?! Why isn't it just happening now?" Harry shouts, standing up, his hair wilder than normal. He starts pacing, pausing for a moment to mutter something under his breath before pacing again. Draco glances over at where Edith is completely ignoring him, and stands up. He moves in the way of Harry's pacing, running his hands along Harry's arms and stopping his pacing. 

"Harry, it'll be ok." He keeps his voice light, soothing, ignoring the pounding of his heart, the deep smell of Harry washing over him, so similar and yet so different. He's changed his cologne. Draco frowns to himself. That is absolutely not something he should be focusing on now.

"How can you be so calm about this? Why aren't you more shocked?" Harry implores, hands clenched in front of him. His eyes bore into Harry and Draco shakes his head, unsure what he should say. What he should do. Fuck, thirty years and he still freezes when Harry looks at him like that. Like he should know the answers and he doesn't.

"Harry…" he breathes. Harry leans slightly towards Draco, and he notices the creases at the corner of Harry's eyes. At least he's been happy for the last thirty years.

"Draco. This is ridiculous. You know this is ridiculous," Harry whispers and Draco can't help but agree. Can't help but wish there was some other way to make Harry happy. Maybe they should never have got married in the first place. Maybe they would still be together… no. He can't, won't think like that.

"You need to live together so that the bond can learn how you feel together. It needs to be stronger, less buried, in order for it to be able to understand and break naturally," Edith pipes up and Harry starts, moving away from Draco.

"Listen, Harry… I know it seems crazy, and I know that we'll probably end up killing each other." Draco takes Harry's hands, feeling the skin, rough and calloused and clamming in his and he tries to speak clearly. Tries to think about the best way to calm Harry down. The best way that isn't sex. He takes a deep breath, looking into those wary eyes and smiles softly. "But we need to do what we can. You need the bond to break, right?"

"Yeah…" Harry nods, looking down, his hands tightening in Draco's

"Right. So," Draco drops Harry's hands, catching his eye and giving him a grin, "your place or mine?"

*****

"It won't be for long. A month max." Harry doesn't look at Chris as he shoves clothes into his bag. Training gear, jogging bottoms, jeans, socks, pants, t-shirts, jumpers. He hesitates for a moment before shoving a nice shirt and a pair of trousers in the trunk. He's deflecting, he knows he is. The more he thinks about clothes, about the practicalities of what he needs to live at Draco's house for the next month, he doesn't have to think about the fact that he will be _living_ with Draco for the next month. Chris moves in front of Harry, getting between him and his trunk, and fixes Harry with a harsh stare.

"You're going to be living in a house with your ex-husband for a month, and you think this is alright?" He sounds pissed, his eyes wide and his voice clipped and Harry snaps, his pulse pounding in his ears, his limbs heavy. Anger and anguish twist at his stomach, and explodes within him. He pushes past Chris, unable to look at him for reasons he can't understand. Or at least that he's choosing not to.

"No! Of course I don't. But this is the only way that the bond will be broken." He slams his trunk shut, the sounds reverberating through him pleasingly. He's probably forgetting something. But whatever it is, he can Apparate back over here. Or go out and buy something new tomorrow on his way to work. Or maybe Draco has spares. Harry used to wear his jumper all the time when they… no. He's not going to fucking wear his ex-husband's jumpers! Regardless of how warm they are.

"Surely there's another way," Chris whines next to him and Harry sighs, shaking his head and flopping down on the edge of their bed. He props his feet up on his trunk and runs his hand over his face, knocking his glasses slightly, and scratching at his beard. He really should get it cut. But it's been so long since he grew it, he doesn't know what he'd look like without it. And since Chris has been asking him to shave it off for the past six years, and he hasn't, it would feel like giving up if he did now. He looks up at his fiancé, taking in the worry, and he reaches out and pulls Chris down next to him.

"Edith didn't seem to think so." He sighs, resting his head against Chris's shoulder. 

"Edith the bond specialist that your ex-husband picked out?" It's not a question and Harry ignores the twist in his stomach that he gets every time Chris calls Draco his ex-husband. Like he needs a reminder of the fact they aren't together anymore. He sits up, annoyance curling through him, and he can't help himself.

"Look. I know it sounds… well," he stops. It sounds ridiculous. But… well, it's Draco. He stares at Chris, imploring him to understand. "But Draco is good at his job, and he knows everyone. The best of everyone. He wouldn't just go to any bond specialist. He'd go to the best one. I trust him." And he does. He trusts Draco with his life. With his money. With his time. Just not his heart. Not after… he coughs and Chris looks at him, clearly unimpressed.

"You trust him? I thought you hated him?" he accuses. Harry groans. Maybe Chris is just too young, too inexperienced to understand. He scratches his beard again, shrugging.

"I did."

"You did?"

"I do. I… it's complicated." It is complicated, and he doesn't really want to explain it to Chris, especially when he can barely explain it to himself. Being around Draco again is complicated. He hates him, of course he does, all the anger twists in him at every mention, every reminder of the life they should have built together. But there's also a deeper sense of… something. Something that reminds Harry of being younger, impulsive, passionate. Something warm about it, and he trusts Draco implicitly. He sighs, taking Chris's hand in and looking down at the plain engagement band he had bought, so different than what he had bought for Draco, and presses a soft kiss to it. "Look. I know this isn't ideal. I know that. He's my ex. But this will all be fixed in a month." 

*****

"Hi." Harry is standing on his doorstep, looking stupidly gorgeous, a trunk on the ground next to him. Draco shuffles on the spot, acutely aware that he has no socks on, and that the cold air of outside has probably made his nipples stand on edge. Harry's gaze flickers down him and he looks at the floor.

"Hi." His voice is embarrassingly small. He's a fucking adult. He can say hi to his new housemate, slash ex-husband, slash love of his life. He glances up and Harry is giving him a soft smile.

"Can I…?" Harry gestures and Draco jumps, stepping out of the way.

"Oh, of course!" He gestures, like some sort of weird butler, and watches as Harry Levitates his trunk into the house. Closing the door, Draco starts to vaguely point at the house. "So, living room is through there, kitchen is down the hall, bathroom and bedrooms upstairs. I cleared out the spare room for you so there's a wardrobe and chest of drawers for you to use. I hope that's ok."

"It's great… thanks." Harry drops the trunk gently on the floor by the stairs and stands with his hands in his pockets, his toe scuffing against the floor. He looks so young, almost the same as he did when they first moved in together. A little rougher, a little greyer, a little stronger, but still as sweet. Draco wants to press him against the wall, wants to show him just how much Draco has changed, has grown, has managed to look after himself. How he can still drive Harry wild. Instead he runs his hand through his hair, and pulls a face.

"It's fine," he mumbles. The air is static around them as they stand, trying not to look at each other. Draco forces himself not to bite at his nail. Fuck, this is awkward. The soft smell of tomato reminds him that he cooked "I made dinner, if you fancied?"

"You cooked?" Harry's eyebrows raise and he laughs, tilting his head towards the kitchen and walking down the hallway towards the kitchen. Of course he can cook. What kind of fifty-five year old single man doesn't know how to cook occasionally. Ok, so he can't cook amazing feasts, but he can cook enough to keep himself alive and somewhat healthy. 

"Ha, funny. I had to learn after—" he cuts himself off, not wanting to go down that route. He walks over to the hob to stir the pasta. Harry moves to stand next to him, leaning over his shoulder slightly, his breath tickling at Draco's shoulder.

"Smells good." His voice is low, deep, and Draco feels it in his toes. He shrugs.

"It's just pasta with a light tomato sauce. I added some bacon and spring onions, and I thought about putting mushrooms in, but I remember you used to not like mushrooms and I don't know if you do now, but I didn't want to put them in just in case…" he trails off, not wanting to reveal that he knows Harry doesn't like mushrooms. He may or may not have checked with Ginny and Blaise. It gave him a thrill to know that he also remembered what kind of milk Harry liked, what washing detergent he used, what sort of films he'll be watching.

"I don't like mushrooms," Harry says, something in his eyes, an almost imperceptible frown on his face. Draco clears his throat. 

"I know…" he breathes, looking at Harry, almost disappearing into those ridiculous green eyes. Fuck. This is going to be harder than he thought.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

"You look terrible." Blaise waltzes into his office, a large plastic bag omitting wonderful smells in his hand. Draco frowns at him, taking his glasses off and rubbing at his eyes. He knows he looks terrible. He hadn't slept the whole night, hadn't been able to. Harry was in the room next to him, so far away from where he should have been, in Draco's bed. And he'd looked so good, his beard freshly trimmed, his hair ruffled, those wonderful crow's feet creasing with laughter. In fact, he'd almost had a wank. Almost.

"You're a dick," he grumbles, glaring as Blaise folds himself delicately into the chair opposite Draco.

"Perhaps. But you still look terrible." Blaise shrugs, looking thoroughly bored with the conversation, and Draco wants to punch him, he's always so fucking smug. Just because he's so fucking _happy_. Draco is happy. Ish.

"Can you just fuck off if you're not going to be nice?" Ok, so he's not happy. But Blaise isn't helping the situation. He can't just leave Draco in peace to mope and not pay attention to his work. No, he has to come here and interfere when Draco was doing such a good job feeling sorry for himself. He'd even got the headache right. Just painful enough to be a problem.

"I brought you lunch," Blaise announces as he starts to pull out soups from itsu. Since marrying Ginny, Blaise has become much more comfortable in Muggle shops. The soup does smell good. If Draco were hungry. Which he isn't. He didn't even manage to do a proper run this morning, and had had to skip his shower.

"I don't want lunch." He leans back in his chair, picking up the paperwork in front of him and pretending to read it.

"You have no choice." Blaise pushes a pot of soup towards him, pouring in a generous dollop of hoisin sauce, before leaning back and picking up his own lunch. Draco scowls at him, but picks up the pot and starts to eat. There's really no point in arguing. He'll just go home and tell Ginny that Draco didn't eat and then he'll have the wrath of the mini ginger. Blaise lets him eat at least two mouthfuls before he speaks again. "So, what's wrong?"

"I haven't slept all night." Draco knows he's being a prick. But he hasn't slept all night.

"Oh yeah? I knew it wouldn't take you two long once you finally spent some time together." Blaise wiggles his eyebrows and gives Draco a lewd smirk. Rolling his eyes, Draco takes a large mouthful before answering, just because he knows it'll annoy Blaise.

"Ha. Hilarious. You are the funniest person in the world. You should do stand-up." He talks with his mouth open, uncouth and annoying. Blaise doesn't flinch, doesn't even look up from where he's winding noodles around his fork. 

"So, you didn't fuck him?" Blaise asks, horrifically nonchalant, and Draco can do nothing but swallow and scowl.

"No! I just… lay in bed all night not sleeping and thinking about how the man I'm in love with was in the fucking spare room." He knows he's being loud, but really, who the fuck cares. They're used to him randomly shouting at people, he's a lawyer. They can cope with him declaring his love for another man during his lunch break. His lunch break that he wasn't even going to fucking take if it weren't for Blaise haranguing him into it. And he's tired, so fucking tired. Being around Harry, forcing himself not to reach out and touch, to act like they did when they last lived in a house together, it's fucking exhausting. He's exhausted. It's been less than a day, and he's exhausted. He flops back in his chair, taking another mouthful and munching in it, his eyes closed to the world. He can feel Blaise's eyes on him, can feel the heat travelling up his neck, probably flushing his stupidly pale skin.

"The man you're in love with?" Blaise asks finally, not really asking.

"Like you didn't know." Draco keeps his eyes closed, his voice bitter. Of course they knew. He hasn't been in a serious relationship with anyone since he was with Harry. He hasn't even dated anyone for longer than two dates. There is no way they thought he was just doing that to piss them off. And it really did piss them off. He opens his eyes to see Blaise staring at him with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open, noodles hanging off his spoon.

"Sure, we all know. You two are clearly still in love with each other. I just didn't think you'd admit it." He shrugs again, taking a mouthful of food and Draco frowns. No. That's not right. Sure, he's still in love with Harry, Harry isn't the sort of person you get over. But Harry is about to get married to someone else. That's the whole reason for him coming to live with Draco again. 

"Harry doesn't love me…" he says, slowly, so that Blaise can understand and Blaise pauses, swallowing his mouthful and sucking slightly at his teeth.

"Ok. That's better. Wrong, but much more Draco Malfoy." He nods once, seemingly ignoring the glare Draco is giving him, and takes another mouthful of noodles, probably just to annoy Draco. Blaise grins to himself, staring into his pot. "So, what are you going to do?"

"Nothing! What can I do?" There is nothing he can do, except try his hardest to make Harry happy. To make up for the years he fucked Harry over. To prove that he's changed. Even if it means Harry being with someone else, and the two of them being nothing more than friends. Blaise is staring at him, incredulous and bored, and Draco raises a questioning eyebrow.

"Get him back," Blaise states, as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "I mean… he definitely isn't in love with this Chris guy. Trust me, I've been watching them together for ten years. And you two have physical evidence that you still love each other. So… win him back."

"I can't do that! I ruined his life once, I can't do it again." Draco looks into his pot, swirling the rice and soup around. He loves Harry, wholly and without doubt. There is no way he can ruin his relationship with someone else.

"You didn't ruin his life. You fucked yours up, but he's been fine," Blaise states and Draco frowns at him through his fringe.

"You're a dick," he growls. Blaise shrugs, putting his empty carton on the table and stretching out,

"And you are a coward." He picks at something in his teeth, driving Draco just a little bit crazy. If telling him that he is a coward isn't annoying enough. Blaise fixes him with a strong gaze and Draco stops. "Win him back, or you'll also be miserable."

*****

"Hello, handsome." The voice shocks Harry and he almost drops his broom. He spins, watching as Chris walks across the pitch towards him. Heat spread up the back of his neck, his muscles tight and his fingers tingling. There is absolutely no reason for him to be nervous, or to feel guilty. Sure, he's been thinking about Draco all morning. Thinking about how similar he is, but how different. He still has the same habits, biting his nails, running his hand through his hair, wiggling his leg when he's nervous. But then there are different things. He seems calmer. He spends more time thinking before he says anything. He eats more. He's thin, of course he is, he doesn't eat enough, but not so thin that Harry needs to worry. And yet he does. Chris arrives next to him, looking handsome in his suit.

"Hi," Harry smiles as Chris bends and plants a soft kiss on his lips. Harry coughs, looking around the pitch to check his team are not watching. "What are you doing here? I'm at work…"

"Hmm… how's it going?" Chris raises an eyebrow, looking at the empty pitch. Harry shuffles on the spot, scratching at his beard and giving Chris a lopsided grin. He is at work. His team are just getting water, which is something they are allowed to do. Still, he feels uneasy, like he's lying to Chris about something. Even though he's not lying about anything. He takes a step back, not really sure why, considering this is the man he's in love with. 

"Well. I'm pretty confident that we're going to win against the Falcons next weekend." He gestures at the pitch, at the playerless pitch. He's being modest. He knows they're going to win. The team have been working tirelessly, and they've got the best pair of Beaters he's seen since Fred and George. Another set of twins. There's just something about twins that helps them work well. And their Seeker… well, their Seeker is Rayne Zabini, as confident as Blaise and lethal as Ginny. And what with the couple of new moves that Draco had thought of last night... they are going to hand the Falcons their arses.

"How was last night?" Chris asks and Harry starts, clearly too lost in his work and in… well, he really needs to focus on what his fiancé is saying.

"Fine. Draco cooked dinner… it was nice." It was nice. Draco had cooked dinner, had actually made food that featured carbohydrates, and it had been good. Simple, but good. 

"I cook dinner," Chris grumbles and Harry holds back the groan. Right, his younger fiancé, who is not ok with him living with his ex, usually makes him dinner. He glances around, checking that the players are still on their break, and takes a step towards Chris, running a hand along his arm.

"You do. And it's delicious. But, Draco doesn't cook. Or at least, he didn't when we were younger." He smiles, trying to get Chris to relax and Chris gives him a look.

"You're not young anymore," he snarls and Harry sighs. He really doesn't want to deal with this. He has a big game this weekend, a bond that he has to break, and an ex-husband who keeps reminding him of why they got together in the first place.

"No… no, that's true." He can't be bothered with this argument. He shouldn't have to be bothered about this argument. He turns to see a couple of his players walking onto the pitch, their brooms slung over their shoulders, laughing with each other. They need to start flying so that they can run drills in five minutes. He turns back to Chris, giving him a beaming smile and linking their fingers. "So, what's the reason for the surprise visit?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you that you have to go to your robe fitting this evening. I thought I'd drop the message off personally… see you face-to-face." He takes a small step closer, looking up at Harry through his eyelashes and dropping his voice "I missed you last night. My hand doesn't feel the same as yours. Maybe we can go to your office for a bit?" Ah. So that's why he's here. Horny and, probably trying to lay some sort of claim on Harry, if Harry knows him at all. Which he does. When Harry first started dating Chris he made a comment about spending quality time with Teddy and that afternoon Chris had jumped Harry and left a series of love bites along his neck. It was very embarrassing.

"Mmm, that would be great, but I can't. They're heading back and then we have to run drills." He gestures at the players now mounting their brooms and kicking off into the air. "But I'll see you soon?"

"Of course." Chris's voice is clipped and angry and he turns away, stalking back across the pitch. Harry sighs. He's going to have to deal with that later. But now, he has to make sure his team are ready, and try his hardest not to think about his very distracting ex-husband.

*****

"Why do I have to come to this?" Draco calls, plucking at the edge of the plush chair he's sitting in. He hates being in tailors. He spent so much of his youth in a tailor. And the last time he was in this sort of a tailor was before Blaise's wedding, and it was awful. It reminded him so much of his own… of when he was getting ready for his own wedding. Thank fuck Teddy and Vik eloped, because he would not have been able to go through another wedding. Actually, that's probably why Teddy and Vik eloped. 

"Because Ron is busy, and you two are roughly the same height." Harry's voice rings from behind the curtain where he is currently changing into his wedding robes.

"We are completely different builds! He has a…" Draco gestures at his belly, even though he knows Harry can't see him. Ron loves his belly. On the few occasions that Draco has talked to him about it, he says that it reminds him that he's an adult, a father, a grandfather. Draco would hate it. "I run every day."

"I know, I heard you leave this morning. Do you jog to the office? What do you do with your clothes?" Harry asks. Draco sighs, glad of the distraction.

"I only jog to the office if I don't have time in the morning to jog first and come home to shower… and I keep a spare set of robes there." He sits and waits, listening to the soft grunts of Harry trying to get into his robes. When they were here, getting fitted for their wedding, Draco had had to help him get into them. And also, out of them. It had taken them a while. He coughs, shuffling in his chair as memories assault him. "So, why am I here?"

"Fine! Because I didn't want Chris to be here, and I need someone with a good eye, and Ginny says I can't use Blaise because it's their date night." Harry's voice is light, but Draco recognises the slight twinge that means he's frustrated and hiding something. It feels nice, safe, comfortable, knowing that Harry still has the same tells he did when they were younger.

"It's sweet that they still have a date night," he replies, grinning to himself.

"I think they started when Rayne, Yorke and Milana were kids." A final huff, and then a pause. "Ok, I'm ready. No laughing, ok."

"No promises," Draco mumbles, sitting a little straighter. He can feel his heart in his fingertips and he holds his breath. The curtain opens and Draco can't stop the small sound that escapes from his lips. Harry looks stunning, in dark-blue robes, a crisp white shirt underneath. The robes are done up around the chest, like a waistcoat, open from the waist, with a high collar. He's wearing smart grey trousers, tight enough to hug the curve of his thigh. His deep-grey tie is tucked into the robes and his hair is styled neatly. Draco can't stop his mouth from dropping open, his mouth dry and his eyes wide.

"How do I look?" Harry asks, shocking Draco from his reverie. He stands, moving to walk around Harry, taking in the elegant cut of the robes, the curve of Harry's arse, the wonderful wave of his hair. He moves to stand in front of Harry, running a hand along Harry's shoulders.

"Last time I saw you pick out formal robes it was a complete disaster," Draco whispers, staring into Harry's eyes, watching the way they swirl, the pupils dilating. "You've become much better."

"I'm much better at a lot of things." Harry smirks, raising an eyebrow, his hands resting lightly on Draco's elbows. Draco breathes deeply, calming his pounding heart and relaxing his shoulders. He takes a step back, letting his hands drop, and smiles.

"I'm sure you are."

*****

Harry is in the kitchen, padding around in his softest jogging bottoms and a worn t-shirt that's probably a little small now. He's been alone in the house all day, Draco's at work and he's had the day off, and it's been lovely. Calming and restful in a way that sometimes his life isn't. He knows he could have gone back home, but then he'd have to have seen Chris, and he's still not quite forgiven him for being an idiot. He's just making himself his fifth cup of tea when the kitchen door opens.

"You know, the last time I remember you being in this kitchen I was three…" Teddy grins at him and Harry leaves his mug at the side to give his godson a hug.

"Hey, Ted! What are you doing here?" Pulling back, he grabs another mug, plopping a tea bag in it and pouring boiling water over the tea bag. It is ridiculous to be so happy to see Teddy, he's a grown man, he has his own house, his own life. But something about seeing him wander into the house, Draco's house, makes the warm feeling that he's had all day unfurl in his chest and spread through him. It's what he'd dreamed of, all those years ago.

"I come here every Tuesday…" Teddy shrugs, accepting the tea as Harry hands it to him. "Gotta make sure Draco eats, right?" He pulls a face and Harry sighs, scratching at his beard before taking a sip of his tea. Fucking Draco and eating.

"Ha, yeah…" he trails off, not sure how to broach the subject. In the end he goes for straightforward honesty. "He still doesn't eat, huh?"

"Not when he's stressed. Or upset. Or distracted by something." Teddy shrugs. Harry takes a deep breath, sitting at the kitchen table and gesturing for Teddy to join him. Teddy flops down on a chair, taking a big gulp of tea. It's just so worrying, because Draco manages to be distracted by everything. And if he's not eating again… except Harry has seen him eat. They've had dinner together. Draco takes packed lunches to work. Ok, he needs to stop worrying.

"You don't bring the kids?" he asks, in a valiant attempt to change the subject. Teddy looks at him for a second before shrugging and leaning back in his chair.

"I do sometimes… but Ginny just convinced Blaise to get a puppy and Vik wanted to take the kids to see it." He chuckles to himself, shaking his head, and sipping at his tea. Harry grins. If he were going to be honest with Teddy, which he absolutely was not, he'd convinced Blaise to get a dog. Over a pint in the pub and under Ginny's orders. The air settles around them and Harry can feel his magic tingling in his toes. It's calming. The clock ticks and Harry looks over to see Draco's spoon pointing to "travelling".

"So… do I need to leave?" he asks, frowning slightly.

"No! You should definitely stay. It's not formal or anything… just a way for us to make sure we spend time together," Teddy insists, beaming at Harry. 

"Well… maybe we should have done that…" he trails off. It would have been nice, having a weekly dinner. Making sure they spent quality time together. Just the two of them, catching up. Teddy gives him a look, flicking him in the hand and finishing his tea.

"I see you every Sunday and I lived with you when Gran died…" he points out and Harry smirks at him.

"True." They sit, grinning at each other, Teddy spinning his mug, Harry sipping slowly. It's been like this since they were younger, since Teddy moved in to Harry's house when he was ten and they didn't know what to say. They didn't know how to tell each other that they were sorry. That it's not fair that they both had to grow up without parents. And so they didn't say anything. They sat, together, just being with each other.

"This is nice," Teddy says suddenly and Harry frowns.

"What?" 

"You being here. With Draco. Just… living here. You look at home." Teddy shrugs, gazing into his empty mug and Harry freezes. He feels at home. Comfortable in a way he always used to when he was first married. The way he always did with Draco before… before everything went to shit. And maybe since this whole thing started. The thought sends a jolt through him and he coughs, draining his tea.

"Yeah…" he sighs, nodding once and standing up. "Ok, let's make dinner for when Draco gets home."

*****

The doorbell rings for the third time and Draco sighs, dropping the book he's reading on the floor. Harry is ridiculous. Draco puts his keys right next to the door for him, all he has to do is remember to take them. He's never remembered his keys. He grins to himself, heading towards the door.

"Coming!" he calls, pulling the door open. "Did you forget your key ag—"

"Hello. Haz not in?" Chris smirks, leaning against the doorframe, looking ridiculously arrogant. Draco hates him, so very, very much. Who the fuck calls Harry Potter, _Haz_? It's fucking ridiculous. 

"No… he went to get milk." Draco smirks his toothiest, fakest smile. The kind he reserves for cheating spouses trying to claim their prenups aren't watertight. Chris doesn't move, doesn't change his ridiculous expression, and Draco wonders, not for the first time, what Harry sees in him.

"We're going to look at wedding rings. You won't mind if I wait here." Chris pushes past him, walking into the living room, and Draco takes a minute to stare at the front step where Chris had been standing. They're going to look at wedding rings? Odd, seeing as Harry had arranged for them to go to dinner at Gin and Blaise's tonight. He hears Chris flop into a sofa and decides to let Harry deal with it when he gets home. Which will hopefully be soon, because Draco cannot be held responsible for his actions.

"Of course not," he says to the floor, before shutting the door and following Chris into his living room. Chris is sat on his sofa, at his end, ignoring the book and tea that are so very clearly next to it. "I would offer you a cup of tea, but we're out of milk." _And I hate you_. Draco grins to himself.

"So, must be annoying, having him living here. I know you two don't get along." Chris dives in, not bothering to buffer it with any form of polite conversation. Draco raises an eyebrow, leaning against his doorway and crossing his arms over his chest. He will not be shocked or intimidated by a twat who thinks that he's better than anyone else.

"We do alright." He smirks.

"Yeah? Not bothering you, with the way he leaves his Quidditch uniform lying around? Or how he always insists on tapping his quill, the chocolate wrappers that you find littered around everywhere…" Chris's eyes shine with something that Draco hates. Hates with a passion. How could Harry love this man? This smug, horrible man who thinks he knows better than anyone else. Who thinks that small, insignificant things can possibly make Harry any less desirable. That it was the little things that destroyed his marriage with Harry.

"He hasn't changed that much since we were twenty-five. I could cope with it then, I can cope with it now," Draco snips, his voice dangerously low. Chris tilts his head to the side, his smirk toothy and snide.

"Could you? I was under the impression that you couldn't live with it." His words drip disdain, and Draco grinds his teeth. Oh, he could punch him. But then Harry would be very unhappy with him. Also, he's an adult, and a Malfoy. He doesn't go around punching people. He back is stiff with restraint, heat rising in the back of his neck, his scalp itching.

"Hm. Well. We all grow up. Eventually," he replies.

"Absolutely, some of us better than others." Chris tilts his head back, defiant, and Draco thinks maybe he's not so much of an adult that he can't punch someone. "It doesn't matter much anyway. He doesn't love you, so the bond will be broken soon and he'll come back to me." The words cut into Draco, and he takes a deep breath, calming his pulse.

"Right." He snaps, emphasising the ‘t' in a way he doesn't need to. They stand, glaring at each other, the tension getting higher. Draco is about to say something, about to leave the room, or tell Chris to get out, when the front door opens.

"I got the full-fat even though I know you asked for semi-skimmed, and I don't want any—" Harry cuts off as he walks into the living room, his eyes wide on Chris, glancing between the two of them.

"Harry, you have a visitor," Draco growls, and Harry nods, clearly flustered. He has milk in his hand, obviously, but also a bar of dark chocolate that Draco knows is for him. Harry only ever buys dark chocolate for Draco. His heart jumps slightly, a satisfied smirk on his lips as he watches the anger wash over Chris's face.

"Chris. Hi. What… uh, what are you doing here?" Harry stutters, and Chris stands up, kicking slightly at Draco's book.

"Wedding rings. We're supposed to go and get them this evening." He moves towards Harry, running his hand along Harry's arm possessively and Draco clenches his fist. He definitely can't hit him with Harry in the room.

"Oh. Shit. Yeah. Fuck… I'm sorry… I completely forgot. Um…" Harry mumbles, his eyes wide, scratching at his beard with his wrist. His skin is pale, shuffling from one foot to the other. He's worried, nervous. Draco feels warm, content in the knowledge that he's become so familiar with Harry's new habits. Chris's hand is tight on Harry's arm and Draco growls quietly. Fucking Chris. How dare he make Harry feel anything less than comfortable. It was one of the things that Draco knows was right about their marriage. One of the things he hates the most about their… about the dissolve of their relationship, is that he ever made Harry feel unsafe.

"Hey, I can call Gin and Blaise. We can go to dinner a different night." He takes the bottle of milk from Harry's hand, giving Harry a soft rub on the back, and watching him visibly relax. 

"Would you? Thank you." Harry smiles at him, handing him the chocolate. Draco nods, holding the chocolate close to his chest, happiness spreading through him as he watches colour return to Harry's cheeks.

"No problem. Have a great evening… Haz." He shoots a glare at Chris before turning and leaving, his heart heavy.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

It's one of the rare Saturdays when Pansy isn't working at the bar, Blaise has nothing to do because Ginny is away, and Teddy decided to randomly show up at Draco's house. They're sitting in the garden, sedately drinking, and talking about nothing, and Draco feels truly happy. Harry is at a game, which he's definitely going to win, and Draco is going to make him dinner. And dessert. And he's going to eat all of it. Including the carbs. He takes a deep breath, smiling to himself and sinking lower into his chair.

"So, how's the Potter situation?" Blaise asks suddenly and Draco's head snaps to him, scowling.

"What?" Teddy asks, sitting straighter in his chair, like a crup who's just seen a ball.

"It's fine, thank you, Blaise," Draco spits through gritted teeth, pointing his eyes deliberately at Teddy. 

"So, you've managed to fuck him then?" Blaise says, ignoring the hint.

"You're trying to win Harry back?" Teddy's voice gets higher, louder, far more interested and Draco groans. Thirty-seven, his fucking arse, Teddy is like a fucking teenager sometimes. Around about when Blaise and Ginny got married he'd made an attempt to get Harry and Draco together again, apparently taking inspiration from a Muggle film. Old habits die hard, apparently.

"No!" Draco insists.

"Yes," Blaise counters, smirking at Draco, taking a sip of his beer.

"Blaise," Draco moans, running a hand through his hair. There's no way that Teddy is going to leave this alone. No way that they're not going to have this conversation now.

"That's fantastic!" Teddy bounces slightly, looking younger than he has in years, his eyes shining with excitement.

"Pansy…" Draco turns to her, his eyes begging silently, and she scoffs, staring down into her wine glass as she swills the wine slightly.

"Don't look at me. You should never have talked to Blaise about it in the first place." Her beautifully curved eyebrow rises, and Draco closes his eyes, needing to not be in this conversation. It's not fair. Harry probably doesn't get this, ever. Hermione and Ron are far too decent to pressure him about his relationships. They certainly didn't when he and Harry first got together. Maybe he needs new friends. Ones that have smaller mouths and are more willing to back him up, regardless of their own person feelings.

"Why don't you want me to know?" Teddy frowns, and Draco feels bad. He's close to Teddy, of course he is. But there are some things that he just doesn't feel comfortable talking to Teddy about. Trying to win Harry back is probably one of them. No...no, it's definitely one of them.

"It isn't a little weird for you?" Draco asks, trying to reason with Teddy. Teddy shrugs, leaning back in his chair, looking like the normal Teddy again.

"Thinking about you two having sex? A little… but I'm an adult. If Vik ever stopped having sex with me, you'd probably hear about it." Draco hadn't actually been talking about sex, but trust Teddy to go straight there. Not that Draco wouldn't love to fuck Harry. He's thought about it often, as he's got older. It's the thing he thinks about the most when he has a wank. It's just that isn't the only thing he wants from Harry. He wants all of Harry, in every way. He wants his love, his companionship. But more than anything, he wants Harry to be happy. Whether that's with him or not.

"That's not really what I meant…" Draco mumbles, taking a sip of his beer. Maybe if he gets drunk then at least he won't be able to remember this conversation tomorrow.

"So, is that a ‘no'?" Blaise asks, putting them firmly back on track and Draco glares at him.

"Yes, Blaise, that is a no," he growls.

"Why not? I seem to remember it was fairly easy for you to fuck him when we were younger." Blaise winks and Draco closes his eyes again, groaning loudly. It was easy to fuck Harry when they were younger. They did often, and furiously. With the sort of passion and love that could only come from being with the person you love more than anyone else in the world. And then he'd fucked it up.

"You mean before Draco broke his heart and they separated forever, never to speak to or of one another ever again, even when situations called for it, like your wedding?" Pansy puts in, her smooth voice cutting and Draco cracks one eye open to frown at her.

"Point." Blaise nods at her, taking a swig of his beer and smirking in Draco's direction. He hates his friends. He has no idea why he still talks to them. He should convince Greg to come and live back in England. At least Greg doesn't ask him ridiculous questions about his love life. Greg just happily sits in silence, when he's not rocking and crying over the death of his best friend. Draco really needs to owl him more often, even if the owls go unanswered.

"So, what's the plan?" Teddy's voice cuts through his thoughts and he frowns, sitting up and looking pointedly at his cousin.

"There is no plan. We live together. He clearly still loves me, because the bond is still there. But beyond that I am doing nothing. If he wants to leave Chris, then he will," Draco insists, trying to make the words as forceful as possible.

"You're an idiot," Teddy scoffs, glugging at his beer and then chucking the empty bottle in the pile next to him. 

"Hey!" That's not fair. He's not an idiot. He's trying to be a good man. He's trying to be better for Harry. He trying—

"No, he's right, you are," Pansy agrees, studying her nails in a way that is too nonchalant to be real. Draco coughs, annoyance bubbling in his chest as he stares at her incredulously.

"Pansy—"

"You need to actually put some effort in, Draco. This isn't one of your quick-ish shags. You actually need to do something." Pansy fixes him with a hard stare and his skin tingles. Of course Harry isn't a quick shag. To be honest, at fifty-five years old, he doesn't have quick shags anymore. Long, one-night stands, sure, but not quick shags. And even if he did. It's fucking Harry. _Harry_. Harry has never been anything less than forever. But that's not the point.

"I don't want to do anything! I don't want to ruin his life!" Draco raises his voice, leaning forward in his chair, fixing them all with a long look, trying to get his point across. As lovely as it would be, as nice as they're being, he is not going to break up Harry's relationship with Chris. Even if Chris is a fucking prick.

"Take him for a date." Teddy plucks another bottle from the Stasis charm in front of him, opening it with his wand. Draco puts his bottle between his legs, running both hands over his face and through his hair in frustration.

"Ted—"

"No, Edward is right," Blaise interrupts and Draco sighs, leaning back in his chair and looking at the three of them. This isn't fair.

"I'm not enjoying you three ganging up on me," he says, his body aching with how awkward the whole conversation is. He doesn't want to win Harry back. Well, he does. But only if Harry wants to leave Chris. Not because he wants to be with Draco, but because he doesn't want to be with Chris. Which he does. So, it's a moot point.

"You think watching you moping about Harry fucking Potter for the past thirty years has been a treat?" Blaise asks, knowing that Draco doesn't have an answer for that.

"I don't mope!" Draco grumbles, pouting slightly and finishing his beer in defiance. He doesn't. He legitimately gets upset about upsetting things. Like losing the love of his life to his own idiocy.

"You do. It's my strongest memory from being a teenager. I think I was the only person with guardians grumpier than I was." Teddy grins and Draco shakes his head.

"But—"

"No buts. Fucking fight for him," Pansy orders. Draco stares at the three of them, his best friends in the world, and realises that even if Harry doesn't want him, even if Chris is who he wants, he will hate himself forever if he doesn't at least try. Fucking friends, being right all the time.

*****

"So, it's not gone yet?" Ron asks, and Harry rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his pie. It's a post-match tradition, the three of them having lunch at Hermione and Ron's local pub. It also, unfortunately, often comes with discussions about Harry's love life.

"I don't think so. The specialist seemed to think it would be obvious to us when it had, and I've not felt anything… unusual." He shrugs. It's not quite true. He has felt something unusual. He's felt the bond, growing stronger every day. It's like when they were first married, for those first few weeks, the bond becoming thick inside him, until he didn't notice it was there. Didn't notice that it didn't break. Didn't even remember they'd had it done in the first place.

"But you've felt something?" Hermione asks, her eyebrows drawing together and she takes a delicate bite of her gammon, egg and chips.

"What?" Harry jumps, his brain catching up quickly as he realises that Hermione has caught what he's said before he even realised he's said anything. As usual. "Oh! No. Nothing physical. Not really. Just… little things that remind me of when we were first married. Things that make me think maybe we should have fought harder to make it work. Stupid things, really." He looks up in time to see the look Hermione and Ron shoot at each other. Oh shit. Hermione turns to him, putting her cutlery down.

"Harry—"

"Please. Don't," he begs, shuffling in his chair as awkward heat rises in his neck, the muscles in his back going stiff and numb. Hermione glances at Ron again and turns back to Harry.

"Oh, but—"

"Mi. I know what you're going to say. And I can't. I don't… I can't love him anymore. I spent too long loving him and not moving on. I have Chris now," he explains, as best he can. He looks over to where Ron has also put his fork down, no longer inhaling lasagne, and his stomach sinks. If Ron has stopped eating, then this conversation must be serious.

"And we know that, mate, we do. It's just…" Ron trails off, looking at his wife for support, for the words that Harry knows don't come easily to Ron. This sort of open conversation isn't Ron's style. Ron is more of a sit-quietly-until-you-figure-it-out-yourself kind of guy. Which is just another indication that this conversation is serious. And Harry knows that it is. He just really doesn't want to hear it.

"We're only saying this because we love you," Hermione insists, placing her hand on Harry's arm and he gives her a grin.

"You could try not saying it because you love me?" His voice is hopeful, even though he knows there is no hope that this conversation is going to end. Hermione and Ron have clearly been talking about this, and once they've been talking about something, there is no way to get them to stop.

"Harry, mate." Ron raises his eyebrows, his voice warning and Harry sighs, putting his knife and fork down and leaning back in his chair. He looks between his two best friends. The people who know him better than anyone else in the world. The only people he truly trusts with his life, except for… well. He scratches at his beard.

"I'm not going to be able to stop this conversation, am I?" He knows the answer.

"Not even slightly." Ron gives him a relaxed grin, shaking his head.

"Fine. Hit me with it." He gestures, settling in his chair, ready for whatever it is they're going to say. Even though he's pretty sure he knows exactly what it's going to be, and exactly why he's not going to like it.

"We just think that maybe you shouldn't marry Chris. You're clearly still in love with Draco, and even if you two don't get married again, maybe you wanna try and make it work?" Ron asks, picking up his pint and looking into it as he says the words, knowing that Harry is scowling at him. Of course, Harry is scowling at him, it's the most ridiculous thing that he's ever—

"You've just seemed so happy the last couple of weeks. More settled than you have in years. And, maybe, it's because you're with him?" Hermione says, less of a question, and more of a suggestion. She's never liked Chris, always found him too… something. Too macho. Too competitive, which is rich coming from her. But she made it very clear from the start that it was Harry's decision, and if Harry loved Chris, she would love Chris, if only because he made Harry happy. Except… well. Maybe it's true that Draco has made him happy over the past few weeks. But he's been there. Draco could always make him happy for a few weeks. It's a few years that Draco struggled with. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, breathing deeply as he tries to think about how to answer them in a way that might make sense.

"Ok, firstly. I am not with him. We are living in the same house, because we need the bond to realise we don't love each other." Even if that's not quite true. "And, secondly. I love Chris. I want to marry him—"

"Do you, though? Or do you just not want to be alone." Hermione's voice gets louder, shriller as she tries to emphasise her point. She must be really worried about Harry. She only gets high and squeaky when she's really worried about him.

"No. I love him. I do." He says, clearly, in a voice that he hopes is strong. He turns to look at her, imploring her to listen. "I do."

"Ok! Fine. We won't say any more." Ron claps once, picking up his fork and digging back into his food happily, clearly content with the fact that they've had this conversation, and that Harry has made his mind up. He's never been one to push Harry when Harry doesn't need pushing.

"But, just… think about it. Ok?" Hermione's eyes are wide and Harry lets out a huff. She's really worried, and really, Harry can understand why. He's a little worried himself. The bond doesn't seem to be breaking, and if he's honest it feels more like he's falling back in love with his ex-husband. He reaches out, taking Hermione's hand in his and giving her a soft smile.

"I will."

*****

"Hey! I'm in the living room," Harry calls the second Draco closes the front door. His chest aches at the domesticity of it, and he leans against the door, letting the cool wood calm him. Right. Fight for it.

"Hey," he replies, sauntering into the living room. Harry is sprawled on the sofa, a tumbler of whiskey next to him, flicking through channels on the tv. This. This is what Draco should have been coming home to for the past thirty years, if he hadn't been such a fucking idiot. What did it matter if they were married? The point was that they were together. He swallows the lump in his throat and gives Harry a grin. "Let's go out for dinner tonight."

Harry looks at him for a long moment, eyes flickering over his face, before smiling and standing up. "Sounds perfect." He grabs his coat from the back of the sofa, slipping on his shoes, and tucking his wallet and wand in his pockets. Harry stands in front of him and he resists the urge to hold out an arm. Sure, it might get a laugh from Harry, but then they'd have to have that awkward moment where Harry might not take it. It's been years since he flirted with someone, and even longer since he's flirted with someone he actually loves. Mainly because there is only one person he loves. 

"Burger?" he asks, for want of anything better to say and Harry grins.

"Absolutely!" They turn and leave the house, the cool air whipping around their ankles as they walk towards the high street. "I wouldn't have thought you'd go for something so unhealthy…" Harry glances at him and his stomach clenches. Ok, so he's probably going to ask for his burger without any bread. And sure, he hasn't eaten all day on the off-chance that Harry would be happy to go out to dinner with him. But he's fine. He only went for a short run today.

"Well, I know how much you like burgers." Draco shrugs, pretending not to notice the way that Harry looks at him. They walk in silence for a moment, the soft tap of their shoes on the pavement lulling him. It's a nice even. Cold, but clear, the streets almost empty. Draco can feel Harry, feel the soft thrum of his magic, the heat coming from him, and it feels so familiar. No matter how much he's changed, how grey his hair has got, how much he now has a beard. How many little habits he has that Draco wasn't there to see develop. Magical signatures never change. Harry will always feel like this.

"I do like burgers." Harry nods. "But I'll only like them if you're having one too. No bapless burgers or salads for you." Draco raises an eyebrow, but sighs, nodding.

"Fine. I will have a burger." He ignores the niggle of annoyance in his stomach. Harry is just looking out for him. The fact that he cares is heartening. If Harry cares enough, then he might have some hope. Some chance that Harry will choose him over Chris when it comes down to it. He feels uncomfortable, trying to win back his ex-husband. It isn't fair, and he isn't a horrible person. Not anymore. He's spent a lot of time trying to get rid of his Slytherin ways. But the bond sits in his chest, reminding him that Harry loves him.

"Thanks. I hate eating alone," Harry mutters.

"I will never let you eat alone," Draco replies, and Harry's lip quirks. Love flows through Draco, his head spinning, his heart tight, and he can't help but notice how Harry has moved slightly closer to him, their hands bumping gently together.

*****

Draco is sitting in the middle of the living room surrounded by law books when Harry comes down the stairs, ready to go to the monthly pub quiz he does with Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus and Neville. Draco looks stressed, his eyebrows drawn low, and Harry can't remember if he's eaten today. Harry certainly hasn't, he'll get something at the pub, but that doesn't necessarily mean that Draco hasn't. He has been much better recently. He might have had something at lunch. Draco's foot twitches and that stupid something that's been niggling in his chest that feel suspiciously like Hermione lurches. Right.

"Hey, what are you doing tonight?" Harry asks, worried when Draco jumps. He's clearly on edge.

"Oh… I have to look over these. I think there's something I'm missing…" He gestures to the book in front of him and Harry frowns, looking around the room. Draco's trainers are by the door, so he's definitely been for a run today, but the only evidence he can see that Draco has eaten is a bowl that might have had cereal in it, and an apple core. Harry's whole body feels tense, too hot and too tight. This isn't his saviour complex, thank you very much Hermione. This is him needing to make sure that Draco is ok. For reasons he is not going to explore.

"You wanna come to the pub with me? We do a pub quiz every month." He moves closer, wrapping a scarf around his neck, pretending like he doesn't care what Draco does. And he doesn't. Unless that thing is not eating. Draco needs to eat.

"I don't know… won't Chris be there?" Draco looks wary and Harry smiles at him. That's not a no. If Draco really didn't want to come, he would have said no. As different as he is, there are some things that never change. Draco Malfoy will always be curt when he's stressed.

"No. He's not allowed to come to quiz night." He watches carefully, seeing the small flash of triumph in Draco's eyes, and ignoring the little voice that makes him wonder why he would be happy to see Draco looking triumphant over being allowed to do something Chris isn't. There are lots of things Chris can do that Draco can't. Not that Harry wants to think about those things right now.

"Why not?" Draco tilts his head to the side, his fringe falling into his eyes a little and Harry shrugs, trying to look nonchalant.

"Ron banned him. Chris can get a little… arrogant. He thinks he knows things better than the others do. There was a question about Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes once and he tried to argue with Ron about the answer…" Harry's heart beats faster, his fingers tingle at the memory. Ron had looked thunderous as Chris started going on about how he knew all about WWW because of a project he had to do on them. Ron had very cuttingly snapped at him something about knowing what the founder's younger brother was called. Harry had been incredibly embarrassed, and Chris had been incredibly furious that Harry hadn't defended him. But… Ron is family.

"Hmm… well, I don't know everything," Draco says, raising one elegant eyebrow and Harry can feel the victory in his stomach.

"Perfect. Come on, or we'll be late." He turns and focuses on tying his laces up, pretending to ignore Draco as he stands, stretching to reveal a strip of pale skin, and slips his jumper over his head. It's the one Harry had bought for him when they first got married, soft and a deep maroon that makes Draco look healthier. He stands, pocketing his wand, and waits as Draco gets ready, allowing himself to wonder, just a little bit, why it's so important to him that Draco is ok.

*****

Draco is frowning at paperwork when his door opens and Ronald Weasley breezes in. He's frowning, his coat open, and his eyes wild. He shuts the door, not saying anything as he looks around the room, undoubtedly taking in the sparse decor, the comfortable sofa, the few photographs of his friends, family, Harry, on the desk. If Harry had gone into the Auror programme, like everyone had thought he would, and Ron had followed, like everyone had assumed, he would have been quite formidable. Draco puts his paperwork down, watching, shivers running up his spine. He's being observed, studied, and he knows it.

"This is a great photo of him," Ron says, pointing at a photo of Harry laughing. A moment later he drags Draco into the frame and the two of them kiss. It is a great photo. They were twenty-one, at the happiest point of their marriage. Draco had dragged Harry out for a walk with Blaise, and he'd just looked so beautiful, so happy, and Blaise had taken his photo for Draco.

"Thanks…" Draco watches, raising one eyebrow. Ron looks at him for a moment before nodding, and folding into the chair opposite Draco. "It reminds me of a better time," he mumbles, feeling like he needs to explain why he has the photo. Framed. In his office. Ron stares at him and nods.

"It was a good time. Harry was very happy," Ron says, crossing his arms over his chest, his shirt pulled lightly over his rounded belly. He looks content, relaxed, but his eyes bore into Draco. Draco shuffles in his chair, his scalp itches, his heart pounding. They sit, in silence, Draco trying not to move, Ron studying him. The air around them gets tense, too still and heavy, and Draco has to do something. To say something.

"I fucked up, Ron…" Draco says, his voice small, trying to implore Ron to understand. "And, as much as I want him back… I can't do it to him again." Ron continues to stare at him, not saying much, and Draco is very aware that this was how they got over everything Draco had done before and during the war. Draco apologised and then Ron didn't speak for a long time. And then, when he was ready, he punched Draco in the face, once, and they moved on. He braces himself.

"You know, I've been thinking. And Hermione tells me I shouldn't interfere, but fuck it, y'know?" Ron says finally, scratching at his belly. "You were both idiots then, and you're both being idiots now. You're meant for each other, and it took me a lot less than 30 years to see that."

"We… uh… sorry?" Draco stutters, not quite sure what to say to that.

"Don't fuck it up this time, Draco." Ron stands, tapping the photo, and leaving the room.

*****

Harry wanders into the living room after training to find Draco lost in a book. Harry smiles, moving through to the kitchen, ready to give Draco some time to finish whatever he's reading. Maybe they can watch a film afterwards. But first, Harry is starving. He moves over to the hob where a casserole is bubbling, giving it a sniff before going over to get a bowl. And then he freezes. Next to the fridge, sitting plainly, is the sandwich that Draco was supposed to have eaten for lunch today. Frowning, Harry goes to the dishwasher, opening it to check if there's a dirty bowl or plate in there. Any sort of evidence that Draco has eaten today. None.

"Hey… do you want some dinner?" he calls, bile rising in his throat. He's not going through this again.

"No thanks, I'm not hungry," Draco shouts back and Harry groans. Right. So, he didn't eat the sandwich, and he's not having the casserole. And he definitely went for a run this morning, because Harry heard him leave. He tugs at his beard, storming back through to the living room.

"Have you eaten today?" He knows he sounds demanding. Angry. But panic is rising in his chest, making his fingers tingle and his head numb. Draco looks up from us book, scowling, and closes it with a thump.

"Yes…" His voice is wary, tinged with annoyance, and Harry knows he should take it as a warning and back off. When he was younger, he might have. Might have backed off and then passive aggressively mumbled things about being healthy all evening. That or they would have had a huge argument. Draco puts the book on the floor, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you checking up on me?"

"No!" Harry insists. Although that is exactly what he's just done. "I just noticed that you hadn't eaten your sandwich, and then you didn't want casserole and I… I guess I still worry about you." He scratches at the back of his neck, willing the muscles to relax and Draco nods once. His grey eyes are stormy, the muscle in his jaw twitching in anger, and Harry thinks maybe he should have backed off. Without the passive aggressive mumbling.

"I had an apple for breakfast and then I got soup at lunch because I forgot my sandwich." Draco stands, moving closer to Harry, his eyes trained on Harry's. Harry swallows, his stomach churning, discomfort running through him. He doesn't want an argument. He never did. Draco comes to stand directly in front of him, his breath tickling Harry's nose. "Not that I need to tell you what I've eaten. Because we are not a couple."

The words sting for reasons Harry doesn't want to explore and he mimics Draco's stance, arms crossed over his chest.

"I know, but that doesn't mean I don't care," he chokes. "I still… I still care. I just want you to be healthy."

Draco tilts his head to one side. "I am healthy."

"No! You're not!" Harry can't help it, his voice getting louder, his muscles tight as his body tries to tell him to stop. To shut the fuck up. To not continue with this conversation, because Draco is clearly pissed off and it isn't actually anything to do with Harry. "You barely eat, you barely sleep, and you run every day! I'm pretty sure your Healer told you that you weren't allowed to run every day. But you still do it. You still can't help yourself!"

"Excuse me?" Draco raises an eyebrow, his back straightening so that he's looking down his nose at Harry. "What my Healer has said to me is none of your business."

"Yes, it is!" Harry yells, taking a step back and running his fingers through his hair. "Yes, it is! Because I can't see you like that again. You were… fuck Draco, you were so fucking sick. And I was so helpless to do anything, and everything I tried didn't fucking work. And I can't do that again. I can't see you kill yourself." Because I lo— no. Not a time for that thought. Harry stares at Draco, his eyes wide, his chest heaving as he takes deep breaths, trying to calm his heart. Draco freezes, before taking a large breath and stepping towards Harry, closing the gap.

"Look, am I 100 percent over... it... my thing... _this_ thing? No. But I'm handling it a fuckload better than when we were 20. I make sure I eat every day. I have dinner with Teddy once a week, and Ginny is always sending stuff over with Blaise, and I've even fucking cooked for you. You don't need to save me, I saved myself." His voice is small and Harry can do nothing but nod. Tears prick at the back of his eyes, his teeth worrying at his lip, and when Draco wraps his long arms around Harry's shoulders and drags him in for a hug, Harry can do nothing but succumb. Draco is alright. He's safe. He's alive. He's here.

Harry is so fucked.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Kids are climbing over Draco as he crawls around on the floor like a bear. It's a sort of image that Harry thought he'd never see. Draco doesn't play with children, and he certainly doesn't crawl around on the floor with them as they clamber on his back. Or at least… twenty-year-old Draco doesn't. Pain stabs at Harry's stomach and he runs his hand over his face, knocking his glasses askew. They'd never spoken about kids. They were twenty, why would they talk about children? And Harry isn't sorry that he doesn't have any. He has more nieces and nephews than he could ask for, and Teddy, and all their kids. He has his family. But sometimes he wonders what it would have been like. A small boy with blond hair and green eyes. Or brown hair and grey eyes. Most of the time those thoughts make him angry, shuddering through him as a harsh reminder. But now… well. Draco growls and the kids run away squealing.

"It's funny seeing him like this, huh?" Victoire's voice shocks him and he smiles down at her, hiding the fact his heart is pounding at being caught out. She smiles at him knowingly but doesn't say anything and Harry nods, turning back to watch as Draco picks up Clement, Hugo Weasley's child, and spins him round in the air as the others shriek and ask to be next.

"I guess I just always thought he'd hate kids. At least little ones. He wasn't a huge fan when we were younger." Harry can't ignore how pathetic the words sound. Of course he wasn't. They'd just come out of a war, they'd been caught up in each other, in their love, in visiting Teddy when they could, when they weren't at home having sex, in building their careers. But people change. Fuck, Harry isn't the person he was at twenty. Why should Draco be?

"Hmm… he was always good with Teddy, or so Teddy says," Victoire shrugs. "And then when we had Penelope he was just brilliant. You both were." Vik's hand brushes against Harry's elbow and he moves his arm to bring her into his side, hugging the only daughter-in-law he could ever want.

"I could have been there to see that. I could have watched him grow…" it's the first time Harry has admitted that to someone out loud, and he feels his shoulders tighten with guilt. They were both to blame, of course they were. But that doesn't make it any easier.

"No, you couldn't," Vikki says and Harry frowns down at her. In the garden Draco is on his back as toddlers bounce on him. "You two were both too stubborn when you were younger. Trust me, I know stubborn. Fleur Delacour is my mother. Even if you had stayed together, you wouldn't have changed. You would have stayed the people you were out of spite and anger." She glances up at him, her pointy chin digging into his chest. "This is better. It's nice seeing you two together."

"You know, Teddy said the same thing," Harry huffs a laugh and Vik grins back.

"I knew there was a reason I married him." She tightens her grip around Harry's middle. Harry squeezes back as he watches Draco spinning children around, before putting them down and accepting the beer that Charlie passes over to him. The kids tug at Draco's hand as he talks to Charlie until Charlie says something and they run away screaming happily. Vikki looks up at Harry again, her blonde hair tickling at his arm. "Why did you marry Draco?"

"Because we were in love." It's the simplest answer he can find. "And we were young and stupid and couldn't imagine life without each other." He pulls a face and looks down at her, not entirely sure why he's telling her this. She shouldn't think of him like this. Pathetic and in need of consoling. He's Harry Potter. He saves the world. Except something about that doesn't quite seem true anymore.

"And why did you break up?" Her voice is soft and he takes a shuddery breath, tears pricking at the back of his eyes as the anger and hurt floods through him again. 

"Because we thought that we weren't in love anymore." It's not true. Except it is. Their pride, their stubbornness, stopped them from having one simple conversation that could have gone some way to healing all of the pain. He hates Draco, so much. He hates that Draco couldn't just talk to him. But he hates that he couldn't talk to Draco. That for all their long conversations, all their hashing out of the war, all their fucking discussions, they couldn't just put aside their pride. "And we were young and stupid."

"And now?" 

"And now," Harry laughs, a tear escaping down his cheek, "and now we know we love each other, and the idea of spending the rest of my life without him seems impossible." Victoire hums, nodding slightly before tightening her hold on Harry, and together they watch their family through the window.

*****

He's exhausted. Exhilarated, but exhausted. It was much easier playing bear when Teddy and Rayne, Yorke and Milana were children, and even eight years ago when Penelope was a toddler. He takes a sip of his beer, letting the cool fizz run through him and relax his muscles.

"You know, you could always say no to them…" Charlie grins at him and Draco rolls his eyes. Like he could ever say no to them. He can see them trying to hide and smiles to himself. He glances back to see Charlie watching him, a thought clearly rolling around his mind. It's shocking how much it's a Weasley trait. Ginny does the exact same thing. "So… how you doing with the whole bond thing?"

"You've been asked to get information haven't you," Draco sighs and Charlie laughs, slapping Draco on the shoulder and shaking his head.

"You know how it is… they think talking one bachelor to another is going to get better results." He grins and Draco chuckles along. It's been this way for years. At every birthday party of Teddy's that Draco has organised, or every time there's some celebration of Ginny and Blaise's. If Harry isn't there, Draco is, and if Draco is there they're either trying to set him up with Charlie, or trying to get Charlie to weasel information out of him. "Genuinely though, mate, how you doing?" 

"Oh, I dunno," Draco shrugs, ignoring the house where he knows Harry is. Coming here with Harry is so much harder than coming here without him. Coming here with him, together… it feels like they could have always been doing this. Maybe they should have. Fuck, they were stupid.

"You know, I could never quite figure it out…" Charlie muses next to him and Draco raises an eyebrow. "You two, breaking up… you seemed so horribly perfect for each other."

"We once had such a huge argument here that you had to pull us apart…" Draco reminds him. They were twenty-one, and Harry had been complaining about how Draco didn't eat any of Molly's food, even though Molly had assured him that it was fine for him to eat it _at home_ where no one could see him, and had even put it under a specialised Stasis charm. He can't remember who had shoved whom first, but he does remember Charlie's arms wrapping around his waist as he was hauled away and Bill grabbed at Harry's shoulders to stop him from following.

"Yeah, but there was fire there. And passion. And care." Charlie's eyes shine, and Draco's chest aches. There was. There was all of that. "Trust me, I see it all the time."

"Did you just compare us to dragons?" Draco sniffs and Charlie laughs, knocking back his beer. Draco isn't sure if he likes the analogy, but he can't deny it's apt. They were like dragons, snarling at each other, filled with an intense sort of love and hate. They aren't the same now… or maybe they are. He really doesn't know enough about dragons.

"I know I've never said this, mainly because Gin would literally have my head if she heard me saying it. And if she didn't Hermione or Fleur would… they are scary women," Charlie mumbles, turning his body to that he's facing Draco more obviously, blocking out the rest of the world. "But I get it. I understand why you didn't want to be married."

"You do?" Draco's eyebrows rise in surprise. 

"Sure… why get married? You two were committed to each other, you didn't need a piece of paper and a marriage bond to tell you that—"

"Exactly!"

"But what I couldn't figure out was why you would ask for a divorce once you'd been married for so long." Charlie frowns and Draco can't hold back the groan. It's been a while since he's had to explain it to anyone, and he's not even sure if his valid reasons weren't actually feeble excuses.

"I didn't ask for a divorce." He rubs his hand over his face, scratching at his emerging stubble. "Ok, I did, but only when we were arguing. I didn't mean like that… I told Harry that I didn't like being married. That I felt trapped, and that I felt like he'd only wanted to be married to me so that he could legally look after me. But I was an adult! I could look after myself, even if I actually couldn't. I didn't want to divorce him… I just… I just wanted him to understand that he was my partner, not my carer, and that I wasn't happy." He looks over at Charlie and Charlie nods slowly, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he processes.

"Right… and Harry…?" he asks, tentative, and Draco sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

"Harry took that as me saying I didn't love him anymore. Which is ridiculous. Of course, I did! I still…" He trails off, his skin heating under the gaze of the older and somewhat wiser Weasley, his neck tight and his stomach twisting. "Anyway, how come you never got married?" he deflects and Charlie shrugs.

"I never loved anyone as much as you and Harry love each other. Never have, probably never will." He relaxes, stepping back, and Draco lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I'm happy with it. I never found it important to find someone to spend forever with. I have my dragons. And I like being alone." He looks at where the kids are now chasing each other around the garden, Fred chasing them like his namesake would have, and Draco watched him. Maybe that's the problem. Draco always thought he liked being alone. But really, he just couldn't be with anyone that wasn't Harry.

*****

By the time they arrive home, Harry is ready to scream. Anger twists in his stomach, a raw visceral anger that he hasn't felt in nearly thirty years. The kind of anger that Draco always brought out in him. It's nice to know some things never change.

"That was nice," Draco says, chucking his jacket over the arm of the sofa and running his hand through his hair before scratching at his chest. "Hey, you didn't tell me Charlie—"

"You love me!" Harry shouts, thick accusation making the words sticky in his mouth, his hands clenched by his side. Draco turns slowly, his head tilted to one side and Harry's heart jumps. Draco is a prick. A gorgeous fucking prick and Harry hates him, hates him so much. Except that he doesn't. He loves him. So much that it hurts, his neck aching with anger and love and desire, his throat tight and his body throbbing. 

"Of course I do…" Draco says cautiously and Harry can't stop the bitterness that twists in him. Draco loves him. He knows. He can feel the soft bond in him, strengthening with each day they're together, telling him that he's home. "Harry, I never stopped loving you." Draco moves closer to him, hands clenching by his side, and Harry can feel himself shaking.

"But you left me!" Harry can't keep his voice quiet. It springs from him, spitting and twisted. Everything that he told himself about their relationship, about why they weren't together, slips away and all that's left is the hurt, the betrayal. Draco left him. Draco was the one who stopped loving him. Who stopped wanting him.

"I didn't leave you!" Draco snaps, and Harry can see he's hit a nerve. That vein in Draco's forehead twitches, slightly more visible with Draco's widow's peak. Something like triumph sparks in Harry's chest and he feels the need to push back tingle down his spine. He's missed this. This fire. Draco is close to him now, so close that Harry can feel the heat coming from him, and his fingers itch to reach out and grab at Draco's shirt, to tug him close and shout and scream and fuck. To show Draco exactly what it was that he gave up.

"You said you wanted a divorce!" he screams, the words ripping from his throat, his chest heaving as he doesn't even try to contain it anymore. He's fed up of being controlled. Draco growls, tugging at his hair before stepping into Harry's space, his nose inches away from Harry's.

"But I never said I didn't want to be with you! That was you. You walked away!" Draco's words hit Harry in the gut and he moves, his brain fuzzy and his body out of his control. He wraps his hands in Draco's shirt, pulling him close. There's a new scar on Draco's cheek, something that wasn't there when he was twenty-five and the reminder of their time apart fuels Harry's anger, his desire. 

"You wanted to stop being married. That's a pretty clear indication that you don't want me," he hisses, and Draco's pupils dilate, his hands coming up to thread in Harry's hair, sending sparks through Harry like they did thirty years ago.

"Of course I wanted you! I still want you! I will always want you." His words flow through Harry and then their mouths are colliding. The kiss is swift, heated and intense. Too much teeth and tongue and spit, as they rock together, their hands grasping at each other. Harry feels like he's drowning, and he can't think of any other way he'd want to go. And then Draco's hand grabs his arse, pushing their hips together and he forgets to think altogether.

Draco moves them backwards, tugging at Harry's clothes, ripping them off. Cool air brushes against Harry's back, his shirt flung somewhere as he runs his hands under Draco's, pulling at it, ignoring the ripping sound, feeling the hard muscles and the soft curves. He's less pointy than he was when he was younger. He seems healthier. Stronger. Harry throws the shirt away, moving to run his hands through the coarse curls on Draco's chest.

A low groan rumbles through Harry as his back hits the wall, fingers and hands tangling as clothes are stripped off. Draco's thigh, lean and strong, comes to rest between Harry's legs and Harry can't breathe, can't think, his tongue twining with Draco's, his balls and cock gently resting against Draco's skin. He needs more. Needs this. He claws at Draco, bring him closer, wrapping his arms around his neck, plunging his hands into Draco's hair. Draco's hands are running up his side, down his legs, pulling at him, needy whimpers coming from his throat and sending shock waves of pleasure right to Harry's cock.

"Fuck me, Draco," Harry moans into his mouth and Draco lets out a guttural yelp, pulling back for a second to spin Harry around, trapping him against the cool wall, his legs planted firmly apart, Draco pressed against his back. He squirms against Draco as long fingers trail up his leg, around his cheek, magic slicked fingers pressing against Harry's hole. And then Draco is in him, finally where they should be, and Harry is fucking himself on Draco's fingers.

"Mine," Draco growls, his lips moving down Harry's neck and Harry can't think, can't move, can't breathe. Yes. Yes. He's Draco. He always has been. His back aches and his thighs are starting to tremble, but it's perfect. He sighs, his cock hardening slowly as Draco strokes against his prostate with a practiced ease that Harry should have been there for. He can feel Draco behind him, his arm shaking as he tugs on his cock, massaging it as it grows. Draco's fingers slip out of him and he cries out, clutching at nothing as Draco lines his cock up against Harry's hole. Bracing himself, Harry takes a deep breath, his cock twitching and leaking precome as the spongy head of Draco's cock presses into him. Relief washes through Harry, like finding something he didn't know he was missing, and Draco presses into him, fiercely possessive hands clasping into Harry's hips.

"Draco, this feels…" Harry stutters and Draco grunts behind him, teeth scraping along Harry's back, fingers digging into hips hard enough to bruise. He knows. They both know. The air around them seems too full, too thick. Harry's cock bobs in front of him and he wraps one hand around it. Draco's tongue runs along his neck, Draco's nose nuzzling into his hair as he bottoms out. They pause for a moment, panting, Harry's body alight. And then they're moving together, Draco pulling his cock out, his hips snapping forward as Harry arches his back and starts to pump his hand.

"You look so fucking good like this," Draco shouts, clearly out of control, "you're fucking mine. You belong on my cock. You always have." Harry can't do anything but mewl, pressing back against Draco, needing more contact. Needing more of Draco. The sound of slapping skin and soft pants and harsh groans fills the air and Harry searches for Draco's hand with his. Their fingers link, as Draco continues to thrust. Harry's mind is fuzzy, his body quivering, his chest aching, and he needs it. He wants it. 

Pleasure builds as his balls tighten and he knows he's close. Quicker than he has been in years. Behind him, Draco's thrusts become erratic, his hand clenching in Harry's more, and Harry knows. Thirty years and Draco still has the same tells. Harry's toes curl as he pumps hard, chasing his orgasm. Draco's forehead is pressed against his back, soft puffs of air tickling his skin and he focuses on the feel of this man, this perfect fucking prick pounding into him. He comes hard, his eyes clenching shut, hot streaks of spunk striping against the wall and floor, every muscle in his body tightening and then releasing. A strong arm comes to wrap around him as he slouches forward, and then Draco is stilling, the warm splash of come filling his passage. 

Standing, he turns, allowing Draco's softening cock to slip from his hole. Draco's arms are still around him, his eyes heavily-lidded and hazy, and he can't stop himself from reaching up and pressing a soft kiss to Draco's mouth. And then something twists in him and he remembers. He's about to pull away, the panic rising in his chest, when Draco's arms tighten around him.

"Not now. Not tonight. Just… don't think about it and come to bed. We'll figure it out in the morning," Draco whispers, his voice thick and rough and Harry releases a breath he didn't know he was holding. Nodding, he leans back into Draco, watching as the soft smile spreads over Draco's face. He closes his eyes slowly, allowing himself to be steered from the room and ushered up to their bedroom.

*****

His body hurts so much, his thighs burning in a way they haven't in a long time, and when he turns over to find Harry curled up next to him he remembers why. His heart hammers as images flash in his mind. Harry pressed against the wall, his body hot and soft. It had been hotter than anything he's done in… well, since Harry left if he's honest with himself. Maybe that weird point in his late twenties when he was trying to get over Harry and started having sex with anyone willing, man, woman, everything in between, human, werewolf, veela… he shakes his head and turns back to the man in his bed. This is better. This is what it should have been.

And then sinking realisation hits.

"Harry," he mumbles, giving Harry's shoulder a little shake. His stomach is twisting horribly. Harry has a fiancé. And Draco'd kissed him. And… fuck, Draco had fucked him. He was engaged to another man and Draco hadn't had a second thought. He was supposed to be an adult now. He was supposed to make good decisions. Harry starts to rouse and Draco sits up, leaning on his knees, his head in his hand as he tries to calm the swirling in his brain. 

"Hey, Draco… fuck… we…" Harry grunts, rubbing the heel of his hand against his eyes. He looks dishevelled and sleepy and Draco's heart gives a small tug. Traitor. He shakes his head, forcing himself not to look at Harry, and stares down at his knees. He fucked someone else's fiancé. He is a horrible human being. All those years trying to make himself better, to be a better person, and he fucked it up. 

"We shouldn't have done that last night…" he mutters, shaking his head. A soft hand presses against his back and it takes all his willpower not to lean into it. He shouldn't. Harry gives him a slight tug and he leans back, flopping down on his pillow as he stares at the ceiling. Next to him Harry gnaws at his bottom lip, looking worried and slightly pale. "You have Chris…"

"I know." Harry nods, his voice cracked and Draco reaches up for his hair without thinking. Harry nuzzles into his hand for a second before pulling away, shuffling to put some space between him and Draco, and Draco's heart drops. He moves, leaning up on one arm to face Harry.

"And you don't love me," he whispers. The bond tugs softly at his solar plexus, reminding him of how wrong he is.

"Draco, we both know that isn't true." Harry shakes his head and Draco knows. He knows it. He hasn't loved anyone the way he loves Harry, and he knows it's the same for Harry. There's something between them that's different. That's more visceral than any other relationship he's ever had. Something so strong that it could keep them away from each other for thirty years and bring them crashing together like it had been only a day. Which is horribly sappy, and disgustingly real. Harry's hand lifts to thread through Draco's hair, his fingers resting gently at the base of Draco's neck.

"Harry… we can't. I know how hard it is to lose you. I'm not taking you from someone else." It kills him to say, his voice cracking and tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. His whole body feels tense, feels sick, and he hates himself. He takes a deep breath, sitting up and straightening his back. What he needs now is for Harry to say the right thing. For Harry to do the right thing. Fuck knows that's Harry's speciality with everyone else. For once, it could be for him too.

"I have to go," Harry whispers. Draco ignores the way his heart stabs, his stomach swirls, and nods once. There's a harsh rushing in his ears and he almost doesn't notice Harry leave. Almost.

*****

Chris is in his kitchen when Harry walks into his house, heart heavy and stomach twisted with what he has to do. He hates this bit, the bit where he has to hurt someone. But he's spent thirty years of his life running from someone he should have been with, and he isn't the Saviour of the fucking World for nothing. 

"Hey," he mumbles, leaning against the door frame, his skin too tight, his palms clammy. 

"Hi! This is unexpected." Chris stops stirring, and turns to face Harry, a soft smile on his lips. He looks young, relaxed, and Harry suddenly realises how much they don't match. How much Harry was looking for company, regardless of where or who it came from.

"Is it?" he asks, moving into the room and Chris raises his eyebrows, his smile turning knowing.

"It isn't?"

"Chris, we need to talk." Harry runs his hands through his hair and takes his glasses off to rub at his eyes. Everything seems like too much. He folds himself into a chair, careful not to scrape it against the floor, and leans his elbows on the kitchen table. Chris sighs, nodding once and sitting down opposite. 

"I thought we might." He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, looking resigned rather than upset. Maybe that's wrong. Maybe he should be looking upset. They both know what's happening, without Harry having to say it. The air is thick with it, making his hands shake and his back sweat. He's done this, made it this obvious that this was the end of their relationship. Ten years of his life, and it's all over because of… well, because he's a fucking idiot who took thirty years to figure out he was in love with his ex-husband.

"I'm so sorry…" he breathes, unable to think of anything else to say. There isn't really anything else.

"Is it him?" Chris asks and Harry's heart jumps.

"No! No, it's not that… it's just. It's me. I can't marry you, not when I feel this way about him." He winces, not able to look Chris in the eye. That was possibly the worst thing he could have said. No, actually, he could have said it was Draco. Except that's not true. Because it isn't Draco… not really. Ok, sure, he'd probably marry Chris if Draco hadn't come back into his life. But he's there, in Harry's life, in his veins, in his heart, and really, he'd never left. It's Harry's fault for not realising that until now.

"I was never going to be able to compete with him, was I?" Chris sighs and Harry laughs bitterly.

"Oh Chris… there was no competition—"

"Exactly." The look Chris gives Harry is pointed and strong. "Did you ever love me?"

"Of course!" Harry looks at Chris now, staring him in the eye, imploring him to believe what Harry is saying. Of course he loved Chris. Loves Chris. He wouldn't have asked him to marry him if he didn't. He twists his feet together, fidgeting in his chair. Chris raises one eyebrow, and Harry tries not to compare him to Draco. Tries not to see how young and immature the move is compared to Draco's impossible elegance.

"Just not enough." It isn't a question, and it tears at Harry's stomach. No. Not enough. He coughs, ignoring the way his head swims and whirrs.

"I don't know how I can explain this. I don't think there's anything I can say… there's no justification…" Of course there isn't. He was supposed to love this man in front of him until he died, not someone else. And certainly not a man he'd already divorced once. Guilt and shame flush through him and he feels hot with it, unable to breathe. The air hangs heavy around them as they sit, whatever is bubbling on the hob popping dimly in the background. And then Chris nods, leaning forward and resting his arm on the table, bringing himself closer to Harry. Sighing, Harry feels like he can relax. The worst is over. It has ended. Harry gives him a gentle smile. "You won't have to put up with me snoring anymore."

"Haz…" Chris grumbles, smiling back. The air around them cools and Harry shakes his head, looking at his hands as they twist on the table. They're rough, calloused from years of flying. Strong, grown-up hands.

"I know I've let you down…" he whispers, "I can't give you what you want. I can't be that person." He looks through his fringe, watching as Chris stares sadly at the table top. Harry forces himself not to feel some sense of satisfaction that Chris finally looks unhappy with the situation. Although the harsh reality that he might be sad because Harry can't be what he wants, rather than that Harry is leaving him, doesn't escape him.

"You know, I was so excited. Harry Potter wanted me. The Harry Potter. And then you were just a man, and that was good enough," Chris states and Harry shakes his head. It's a nice sentiment, even if not entirely true.

"I'm so sorry," he says. Because he is. For this whole situation. It's a fucking mess. And he's sorry for it. Sorry for putting Chris through this. Sorry for putting Draco through it. Sorry for putting himself through it. Fuck it, he was a twat at twenty-five and he's a twat now.

"We could have been happy." The statement shakes Harry and he nods. Yes. In their house, with their children that Chris desperately wants, living off Harry's wealth and Chris's goodness. Harry getting older, watching as the world passes him by, and always wondering what was missing, but refusing to acknowledge that something was. 

"Probably. But you deserve more than that." And so does he. Chris smiles, handsome and carefree.

"I do," he agrees, all cocky confidence that had attracted Harry in the beginning. Much like what had drawn him to Draco, sipping lazily on a pint in the Leaky a few months after the war, ready to apologise to anyone he hurt and fight anyone who dared talk down to him for it. Maybe that's it. Maybe that's his type. Cocky, arrogant men. But, actually, no. His type is Draco Malfoy. And rough imitations.

"I'm sorry," Harry says again, however redundantly. Chris grins at him, standing and clapping him on the shoulder.

"I know."

*****

Draco hasn't left the bed since Harry left the house. He knows it's ridiculous. He's acting like… well, like he did when Harry left the first time. He thought he'd grown up a little. Apparently not. The house seems empty. It is empty. There's no Harry filling all the space, making noises even when he's just sitting there. Tapping his fingers, or humming softly, or ticking his tongue as he thinks. Habits that are old, and ones that are new, that Draco should have been there to see develop. He did that. He destroyed their marriage, and now he's destroyed their future. A fresh wave of twisting nausea flows over him and he shuffles further down into mattress. He ruins everything.

There's a soft click from downstairs, a gentle creak on the stairs and Draco sits up, frowning at the door. If that's fucking Blaise coming to have a go at him about letting Harry go he's going to hex him so hard he'll never speak to Draco again. His fingers wrap around his wand as the door opens slowly, almost silently. And then Harry's face appears, looking tired and worn out and Draco doesn't think he's ever been so happy in his life.

"You came back?" His voice is horribly cracked and Harry gives him a soft smile, shrugging slightly.

"Of course, I did," Harry breathes, walking into the room, kicking his shoes and socks off before climbing onto the bed to flop down next to Draco. He scratches at his beard, tucking one arm behind his head, before looking up at Draco. His hand moves to run along Draco's back and Draco shivers at the touch. His t-shirt is thin enough that he can feel the rough calluses on Harry's thumb from years of flying. Leaning into it, he stares down at Harry, his pulse pounding in his ears and his mouth dry. Harry is in his bed. He's back. He's with Draco. Draco's stomach clenches and he can't breathe, his head spinning. Harry's eyes pierce into him as he mumbles, "I belong here."

"Harry…" Draco whimpers and Harry shakes his head, his hand applying pressure to move Draco towards him, sitting up so that they meet in the middle. Draco can feel Harry's breath on his face, feel the soft tickle of his close-cropped beard, see the reflection of himself in those fucking perfect green eyes. His heart clenches and his hands move of their own volition, running through Harry's hair.

"Shh… later," Harry smiles, before pressing forward, taking Draco's lips with his. The kiss is softer than their last one, Harry's lips fitting against Draco's, his beard scratching gently at Draco's skin. Sighing, Draco gives himself to it, sliding to hover above Harry. Fingers twine through his hair, maybe a little thinner than when they were twenty-five, but thankfully not too much, and he deepens the kiss. Harry tastes the same, clean and warm. Like coming home. It makes Draco's heart clench, his pulse hard and fast as his fingers tingle and his toes curl. This is his Harry. His. Always has been, always will be.

Harry's fingers start to work their way down, stroking at Draco's neck and Draco takes his cue. He moves his lips, licking just under Harry's ear, feeling for the hitch he knows will come. Harry moans, arching to press into Draco and Draco smiles to himself before moving lower, mapping the sinews of Harry's throat with his tongue. It's rougher than it was thirty years ago, but then, they both are. He moves his hands under Harry's t-shirt to skate down Harry's side, still muscled thanks to constant flying, but gently soft, a small roll bulging from the waistband of his jeans. He's so different, but so similar and Draco almost chokes on it.

"You used to do this, but faster," Harry groans, and Draco laughs against his neck.

"I used to do a lot of things faster," he mumbles, tugging at Harry's t-shirt, peeling it over Harry's head before resuming his re-acquaintance with Harry's neck. "Are you not enjoying yourself? Would you prefer me to come now and leave you to look after yourself?" He couldn't even if he tried, but it draws the laugh from Harry that he was aiming for.

"No," Harry replies breathlessly, "this is good. This is— perfect." Draco grins to himself, slotting himself between Harry's legs and rocking their hips together. Harry clutches Draco, pulling at the t-shirt Draco is wearing and Draco hooks one finger in the neck and to pull it off as he continues to rub his groin against Harry's, feeling his cock beginning to harden in his jeans. He moves his fingers to flick open the buttons with practiced ease, and Harry moans, a deep rumbling moan that makes Draco's cock twitch as it swells. 

He starts to kiss down Harry's chest, his hands running over Harry's hardened nipples, the dusting of curled grey hair. He didn't have hair when they were younger. Not this much. Draco nuzzles at it as he moves lower, hand grabbing at Harry's jeans and pants, tugging them down in one smooth motion, releasing Harry's cock. Harry gasps, his hands tightening on Draco's shoulders. His cock flops heavy on his stomach, thick and lengthening as his balls hang between his legs. Draco's mouth waters, his own cock growing at the sight. Pressing soft kisses against Harry's skin, he moves lower, running his tongue over Harry's hip bone, tasting him, deep and musky on his tongue. 

"Draco, I've waited nearly thirty fucking years for you to suck my cock again…" Harry moans and Draco chuckles against his skin.

"I just want to make sure I remember this," he breathes, not sure if Harry has heard him, not caring if he did. Harry whines, his cock lengthening against his stomach and Draco breathes out heavily before kissing along the shaft, wrapping his lips around the head and sucking softly. He can hear Harry moan, feel his hands running along Draco's neck, through his hair, Harry's cock hardening slowly in his mouth. Draco hollows out his cheek, sucking lightly, sinking lower onto Harry's cock. He sucks slowly, flicking his tongue over the head as it grows, until he feels it hit the back of his throat before running his tongue along it as he rises slowly. Harry groans, his hips rolling, his hands tight in Draco's hair. Dipping the tip of his tongue under the foreskin, over the slit, something he hates that he learnt on someone who wasn't Harry, he hums at the taste. After years, Harry still tastes the same. A taste that Draco has been chasing for thirty years. No one can ever compare.

Moving one hand to cup at Harry's balls, he slides down Harry's cock again, the coarse hairs at the base of his cock tickling Draco's nose. The hair was softer, once upon a time. Less grey. He should have been there to see the changes. Should have been the first to notice the first grey hair. Should have commented on the oddly grown up shade of brown Harry's cock has turned. He missed it, all of it, every change, every moment, and he sucks, licking and lapping at Harry's cock. Everything he missed he'll learn. He's never losing Harry again.

Harry shuffles under him, his knees rising higher around Draco, his feet coming to rest close to Draco's face, tilting his hips suggestively. That's a new trick, and Draco doesn't know whether to be pleased he's learnt it, or sad they didn't learn it together. Harry's hips twitch, his cock thrusting into Draco's mouth and he realises it doesn't matter. They have the rest of their lives to learn new tricks. And there are so many things he learnt without Harry. Wordlessly Accioing lube, for example. He holds his hand out, feeling the tube smacking into his hand even as he continues to move his head, drawing rough mewls and deep groans from Harry.

"That's new," Harry pants and Draco pulls off him to grin. Harry smiles back, his green eyes dark with lust, his lips red where he's been biting them, his hair a mess. He looks gorgeous. Draco ducks his head to mouth at his balls, feeling them softer than they were, easier to suck on, and Harry wriggles his hips. "Mm, not anymore. I liked the cock sucking…"

"You always did," Draco chuckles, leaning back on his elbows as he squeezes lube onto his fingers, slicking them up and chucking the tube to the side. "How do you feel about rimming? Still pro-rimming?"

"Pro-rimming," Harry chokes, "very pro-rimming. Chris never— he didn't like it."

"He clearly wasn't meant for you." Draco smirks as he nudges Harry's feet onto his shoulders, raising his hips higher, ignoring the soft click of his shoulder bone, before bending to flick his tongue over Harry's hole. He feels it flutter, feels Harry moan deeply, the vibrations running through him, and he presses harder. Harry tastes musty, deep and strong, and memories flood Draco's mind. Memories of them, nineteen years old, figuring out what they liked, what they wanted. Mad for each other and madly in love. Harry writhes against him as he alternates between large swipes with a flattened tongue, and hard pokes with the tip, Harry's hole loosening.

"Fuck! Draco! Don't stop— it's been— fuck!" Harry whines and Draco smirks against him.

"Oh Harry, I'm never going to stop, ever again." and with that he takes one slicked finger and presses into Harry. Harry's hole, puffy and pink and slicked with his spit takes Draco's finger. It's fucking gorgeous. Draco's heart pounds, his own cock hardening at the sight, and he bends to lap around his finger as he slides it in and out, adding a second, a third. He swirls his tongue, his mind hazy, and his body reacts to the filthy sounds flowing from Harry's mouth. 

Glancing up he sees Harry staring down at him, his hand on his cock, trusting as Draco fingers pump into him. It's the most erotic thing Draco has seen in thirty years and his other hand automatically moves to his own dick, feeling it thicken as he tugs at it. In the past just seeing Harry would have been enough, would have had him so hard he was aching. A pang goes through him as he remembers that he wasn't there for the first time it took Harry more than a lick. 

"Draco… Draco— fuck! I need… Draco…" Harry pants, begs and Draco pulls back, letting Harry's feet drop onto the bed. He shuffles, giving his cock a swipe with his lubed hand, and lining it up with Harry's hole.

"Harry… I…" he stutters and Harry nods, reaching with one hand to link his fingers with Draco's. Draco's chest aches with love, his body stiff with it, and he can do nothing but squeeze Harry's hand and press forward. The spongy head of his cock pops past the tight ring of muscles and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He stares into Harry's eyes, the room static with energy and magic and heat and rocks forward, pausing to let Harry adjust. 

"You got better at this," Harry croaks, curving his back, tilting his hips as Draco slides his thighs under Harry's arse cheeks. He chuckles, tightening his grip on Harry's hand as he bottoms out.

"Yeah, well, thirty years and I would hope I'd improved a little." he breathes slowly, letting himself get used to the tight heat of Harry, of the intensity of him. The absolute perfection that he'd so foolishly given up all those years ago. He was a fucking idiot. Never again.

"We should have improved together," Harry whispers and Draco gives him a sad smile before bending to press a searing kiss to his lips. The scratch of beard against his chin feels so different, so wonderful. There is so much they should have done together. He should have been there to bitch and moan when Harry first grew a beard, to complain about how it tickled his skin. He should have been there when Harry realised he didn't like having his balls played with anymore. He should have been there to build a family with this man. Married or not, he belongs with Harry. He always has. Harry smiles against his lips, "you can start moving."

"Still as pushy as ever," Draco retorts, rolling his hips, sliding out before pressing back in, catching the gasps and mewls from Harry's mouth with his own. Their tongues twine, their breaths mixing as they move, hands running over each other's bodies, the slick sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, barely piercing the whirring in Draco's ears. "I love you. I always have, Harry Potter-Malfoy. You are mine."

"And you're mine, Draco Potter-Malfoy. You always will be," Harry growls back hand sliding between the two of them to rub at his cock. Draco moans, pumping his hips in earnest, chasing an orgasm that he knows will take a while to come. A while is fine. They have a while. They have forever. Pulling out, he reaches for the lube again, squirting more on his cock, the squelch of his cock diving back into Harry's heat almost making him cry out. Panting, he moves a lubed hand to wrap around Harry's on Harry's cock, their hands moving to the rhythm of Draco's thrusts, their foreheads pressed tightly together.

They don't stop, their hands, their hips, their soft pants and moans and murmurs of words that mean nothing and Draco can't feel anything but Harry. Doesn't want to feel anything but Harry. All this time, and he could have been having this. All the other sex he's ever had has been hollow and boring. Soft compared to this. Nothing compares to Harry. To his Harry.

The build is slow, rumbling deep in his spine, shivering down his legs, and he can feel his balls tighten. Harry's breath starts to hitch, his fist becoming loose on his cock, his eyelids fluttering closed and Draco knows, knows it like they were his own tells, that Harry is close. His stomach twists at the thought that Harry might have learnt more, might know more, might have been with other people, but he's still the same. He's still Draco's Harry. Not Harry Potter, the Saviour of the World. Not Harry Potter the International Quidditch Star. Just his Harry, who leaves his socks on at night when he's cold, and who always has a glass of water on the go. His Harry who makes sure Draco eats, who cares for him in a way that no one ever has before. That no one else is allowed to.

"Draco, I'm coming—"

"I know," Draco stutters, and then thick strands of come are splattering between them, spreading across their skin and Draco keeps moving, so close to the edge he couldn't see even if his eyes were open. Harry threads his clean hand through Draco's hair, pulling him close for a deep kiss and Draco comes, his body tensing and then relaxing as he fills Harry's passage. Harry is tight against him, and he collapses forward, their bodies limp and twisted as they pant against each other, sticky and sweaty and sated.

"I can't believe it's been thirty years," Harry breathes against him and he laughs, sliding off Harry and flopping on the bed.

"Technically it's been a day," he reminds Harry, who rolls his eyes, waves his hand and casts a quick cleaning charm over them both. Draco smiles as the magic caresses his skin, and turns to rest his head in the crook of Harry's arm.

"Maybe tomorrow I'll show you what I've learnt." Harry's voice is thick with sleep and Draco's heart skips at the thought of tomorrow. Of the two of them, waking together, maybe having some breakfast, before doing this all over again. Tomorrow. He tightens his grip and Harry presses a soft kiss to his forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too." Draco can't stop the grin on his face as he drifts to sleep.

*****

It's March. One of those days where the sky is clear and the sun is trying to heat the world, but failing just a little bit. Draco snuggles down in his chair a little further, casting another heating charm over himself and reaching for his beer. This really is the best, no, fuck it, the _only_ way to spend a lazy Saturday. He closes his eyes, listening to the light twittering of birds who have been up for hours, the gentle rustle of wind through the trees, the soft hums of the man next to him. 

Cracking on eye open, he turns his head and watches as Harry scowls over the draft for his new team. It always throws him when someone retires, and with two players off on parental leave, he's had to buy three new players. It's caused a lot of headaches, for Draco, let alone Harry, and Draco isn't even sure he needs to know as much as he does about the new team. But that's Harry. He throws himself 100 percent into everything. Draco's heart clenches and he sits up a little straighter. "Hey, Harry…"

"Hmm?" Harry doesn't look up and Draco takes a deep breath.

"Do you want to get married?" It's not the most romantic of proposals, but in this moment, Draco can't think of any other way he can tell Harry how he feels. How much he wants it to be them, a team, forever. It's not about being trapped, or having fewer options. It's about them, together. And—

"No." Harry scribbles something on his paper and Draco freezes. That doesn't sound right. Harry wants to get married. He's always wanted to be married…

"No?" 

"Nope." Harry looks up, adjusting his glasses and hitting Draco with a grin. "I just want you." Draco's mouth drops open, his eyes wide, his head spinning with how much he loves this man in front of him and Harry hums happily, looking back to his paper and frowning again. Draco takes a shaky breath, sipping at his beer and sliding back down in his chair. Well, imagine that. Harry doesn't want to get married. He wants Draco. Just Draco.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a part of an anonymous fest and the creator will be revealed no later than March 30. Please comment here or at [our community on Dreamwidth.](https://hp-goldenage.dreamwidth.org/62328.html) Thanks! ♥


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